


At Furthest South

by sadsparties



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birthday Presents, Dancing, Epistolary, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Near Death Experiences, Pets, Pining, Prequel, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, THE DRESS, oblivious characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24806023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties
Summary: Fitzjames volunteered to sail with Sir James Ross to the Antarctic, but the Admiralty wanted a return from his expensive training on the Excellent, so he was appointed gunnery lieutenant to HMS Ganges instead. He never got as far as an interview with Ross.A what-if, and the adventure that follows.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier & Sir James Clark Ross, Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Edward Philips Charlewood & James Fitzjames (1813-c. 1848)
Comments: 342
Kudos: 188





	1. 1839 september, trinidad

Dear William,

Well, old, boy, I’m finally here. You have entreated me to write and write often, and I shall not be so callous as to disobey your wishes. I feel like I ought to explain myself after such a hasty parting from your good graces. You know well enough that I have been raring to go back to sea and prove myself, seeing as my last adventure had taken all but a miracle to grant me my advancement. I have exerted great care in selecting my next appointment and Teddy agrees that we have done right in this venture, though I suppose you will question the wisdom of moving from one Francis Rawdon to another.

Unlike Captain Chesney, I am relieved to report that Captain Crozier is a capable man. He is not one to take his chances and hope for the best, though that is precisely what he has done by taking in Charlewood and I. You will remember that he was not inclined to take in two gunnery lieutenants in his crew. 

“It is entirely unclear to me why Captain Ross insists on it,” he’d said to me in my interview, “but he has and I shall expect all the more from you to deserve his confidence.”

I deeply lament that I am in his muster while Teddy enjoys the incandescence of Ross’s shadow in the _Erebus_. I have read of them a great deal, and am entirely certain that it is Ross whose portrait will hang in the halls of Somerset House. I will not discredit my captain, and I cannot be envious of Teddy, but I feel it safe to admit to you, dear brother, that the loss is keenly felt. 

My dreary memories of Baghdad have made me all too eager to be locked in the ice. I cannot wait to shiver in the cold and rattle my teeth! We are still many months away from sighting our first iceberg and there will be many a season you will not hear from me, but I do beseech you to keep writing, Will, and I will do my best to respond to you when we reach the next port. Until then, envision me in the Great Cabin, bowed over almanacks as the captain teaches me the notations for ocean depths. This pitiful sight is what has become of

Your brother,

James Fitzjames


	2. 1840 may, kerguelen islands

Dear William, 

I write this from an island so desolate that there is not another landmass for three thousand miles. We are not so far from the Antarctic Circle now, though before we engage with the pack we must first dock in Van Diemen’s Land to establish a base—at least that is what I surmise from the charts. The captain, Ross, that is, is not so forthcoming with our route, but McMurdo shares in my opinion that we ought to restock our victuals before truly heading out.

And here is where I must be humble with you, William, and admit my error, for in my last letter I had neglected to mention where you should address your response. Be it known that you should send it for  Hobart, Van Diemen’s Land, and that is where this letter will surely come from once I leave it with the nearest postmaster.

We spent the entirety of last month engaged in building observatories along a bay in Kerguelen Islands—to think that I believed my years of hammering and hauling rock were well behind me. Teddy shared my sorrow when I last met him on shore, though he reminded me that at the very least we were merely constructing small houses instead of entire steamships. It does not help that the rain is endless and only falters when gale and snow take its place. 

I have mentioned McMurdo, who is our senior lieutenant. He is a fine sort, the kind of officer who quietly earns the respect of his men, but I worry for his constitution. His colour has evaded a healthy tinge since we sailed, and I doubt that he will maintain his endurance in the longer stretches of our voyage.

I spend most of my hours onboard with Phillips, another fellow lieutenant. There is nothing to dislike about him were it not for the fact that the captain praises his magnetic observations more than mine. I should like to see Phillips sketch a landscape, although in that regard I have Davis to contend with. 

Davis, who is the second master in _Terror,_ is something of an artist. He is not quite the master as Sir George Back, whose paintings I know you have hounded for, but there is a quality to them that one might describe as ‘charming’. I shall keep it in mind to be out of sight if Davis starts to sketch, for I do not want my backside to be depicted so unflatteringly.

Of the _Erebus_ , I know of no one but Teddy, but I hear there is a talented naturalist by name of Hooker on board, and that the surgeon, Doctor McCormick, has a good hand at a rifle.

But all these names are mere figures in the background, Will, for there is none that delights me more than a ginger tabby that I have christened La Carlotta. _Terror_ has no shortage of ship’s cats, but it is Lottie who has found her sanctuary in my cabin and spends the nights purring against the soles of my feet. I have often had to bother a steward to pluck her hairs out of my jacket before I go to breakfast. I am fortunate that McMurdo is so poorly, and that our captains have taken refuge in the observatories, else I would have been given duty owing for dirtiness.

It was during such a morning of brushing Lottie’s hair from my uniform that McMurdo peeked into my cabin and instructed me to pack my personals.

“Captain Ross wants you in the observatory. You’re to assist the captain while the captain delivers the Divine Service.”

It took me a moment to understand what McMurdo had just said, because although the Divine Service is paramount in its importance, I had never heard of a captain requiring assistance in its delivery. It is often a problem in these two-ship expeditions that one is not entirely certain which ‘captain’ is being referred to. After a while, I gathered that I was to assist Captain Crozier in the observatory whilst Captain Ross performed his weekly inspection and duties.

And so it was that I stood on the threshold of the observatory that I had just built. I took a moment to admire its resilience, the gale hurtling against its walls, before knocking on the door.

“Ah,” the captain said as I hastily closed the door behind me. He was bent over the brazier as he stoked the fire. “I was expecting Phillips.”

And you know me, Will. I have never shied from the prospect of competition, but in that instant, I swear that the stirrings I felt in my gut were more akin to malice than sport.

I mentioned that my presence was at Captain Ross's command, but only after raising my brows by half an inch in what could be perceived as ‘amusement’. I dropped my personals under the hammocks, and the captain beckoned me to the inviting glow of the brazier. The observatory was merely twice the length of a ship cabin, and with the hammocks, the desk, and the water closet, there was only so much space that two men could occupy on the same side of the room. The captain stood aside as I approached, then made his way to the desk as I held my hands out to the fire. 

I could hardly hear it, what with the gale outside, but there came the creak of a chair, and I looked up to find the captain squinting at the needle in the dip circle. I do not expect you to be familiar with Fox instruments, Will, but if only to complete the image in your head of what we must look like, imagine a clock raised on a pedestal, which can measure the dip of the earth’s magnetic field and its intensity. The needle inside reflects the angle of the dip, and the intensity is measured by hanging small weights on a wheel until the needle is perfectly horizontal once again. It is fastidious, if uninteresting, work and I saw the captain’s growing frustration as he struggled to read the scale.

Call it amiable weakness, but my heart did go out to the man—this, despite his hints at my ineptitude. I pulled up a chair and read the angle reflected in the curved scale. The captain jotted down the number and asked how old I was, then huffed when I said that I was six and twenty. He shared that when he was my age, he had been doing much the same, worrying over tidal measurements during a storm.

“Though I cannot recommend it if this is what it leads to in two decades’ time.”

I would have told him that he would not be the first sailor whose eyes have failed him in the low light. A lock of hair fell on his forehead—left to run wild without the attention of his steward—and a thin blanket of red dust was beginning to grow along his jaw.

“Perhaps when I am your age, I shall employ a talented lieutenant to assist me in my readings… sir.”

The captain let out a chuckle at that, a real one, light and so short-lived that I thought my vanity had only imagined it. I struggle to remember it even now, how it crackled so quietly in the air, and how it caused the sweet gap between his teeth to appear.

“And have you suffer from this malady early? I think not.”

“You will find that I have been staring at fine lines ever since I was a boy, sir, sketching the boats in the English Channel. My eyes have remained unimpaired, and I believe they will be in full working order until my chair days.”

This caught his attention somewhat.

“You are a draftsman then?”

“Of a sort, but I have yet to accept a commission.”

To this, the captain merely hummed, then picked up his pencil again to take the next reading. We spent the next half-hour or so repeating the experiment, and when the sun banked low on the horizon, moved on to astronomical and pendulum observations. 

And here I must stop, dear brother, for I hear the bell for dinner and La Carlotta is growing restless with the noise. How I miss the dinners in Rose Hill and the smell of apples as we sat outside the porch looking at the stars. In the ship, the air always smells of salt and badly boiled pork, and the only apples to be found are sad preserves in tins. I shall endeavour to write more frequently even though we are not at port, so you may expect to receive two, even three, letters when next the postman comes at your door. Until then I remain

Yours ever affectionately,

James Fitzjames

P.T.O. to see a quick sketch I made of Lottie. She cannot speak, but I am sure she sends you her love. Davis has offered to let me borrow his watercolours, so you may soon expect a vibrant rendering of her glossy coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls dont let john davis [draw your butt](https://66.media.tumblr.com/50c3c850f48f6b38c24633c5143d3bfd/6c267827ef9d963b-9d/s250x400/d1823d97dff50f1b59e59ea53359348196829500.png)  
> big thanks to modern jcr for explaining [how dip circles work](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xt9dyEEy9oc)


	3. 1840 august, hobart

Dear Will,

You cannot imagine my delight and surprise at having the clerk-in-charge come aboard, a mere hour after we had docked, to hand me your correspondence. To think that I presumed our route such a mystery while you were able to work it out on your own! I hear from the Erebites that none but Captain Ross and myself have had the privilege of mail waiting for us, so I congratulate you on your astuteness—it is parallel to none but Captain Ross’s intended.

While I am glad for your letter, I am sorry to hear of your health. It is unfortunate that my chosen profession leads me to be so often away from you and our mother. I would nurse you from my berth if I could, if only there was a way to be in two places at once.

You will ask me how it is to be among civilisation once again, and although it is a bustling city in its own right, I feel like Hobart is more a memorial than a city. I suppose it is simply natural in settlements, for the builders to conjure the image of what they once knew as home. From the short glimpse I have had of the city, it seems that Hobart was built with the memory of London in mind. The streets are wider, if unevenly paved, and the tailcoats on the men are a full year out-of-season from when we sailed.

Much of the time from our first two weeks here was spent on building our headquarters on land. I will spare you the specifics, for I am aware that you have heard enough of construction from me, but I will say that Captain Crozier was begrudgingly impressed at how Teddy and I could maintain order among two hundred convicts armed with shovels. 

The captain is cross with me, you see. I have not the heart to tell him that it was Lottie who upended one of the chronometers.

With good fortune, we completed the project in nine days. Teddy and I were invited to Government House to celebrate, though Sir John Franklin had taken ill that morning and was not in attendance. This was a great disappointment to me and I am sure you understand why. We were both too young then to truly comprehend what was in the papers, but I am almost certain that it was my reading of Sir John’s exploits that convinced me to join the Euphrates. 

Picture our company of eight around a long table, with Lady Jane Franklin and Captain Ross at each end. I was sat at one side of Lady Jane, myself being what they called the ‘guest of honor’, with Sir John’s daughter Miss Eleanor Franklin to my right, and Teddy beside her. Across from me sat Miss Sophia Cracroft, who is Sir John’s niece, and sharing her side of the table were Captain Crozier and Lieutenant Bird. 

The prize of the evening was a platter of roast lamb, for which we starved sailors were immensely grateful. I know I looked fairly respectable that night, having left the papers in my hair an hour longer than most days, but the smell of proper meat after months on potato and corned beef does a number to a man’s manners. It is sheer luck that none of my partakings spilled unto my uniform. 

Lady Jane politely made inquiries about my time in Beirut, while across from me Miss Cracroft and Captain Crozier were taking no great pains to hide their suit. It would worry me were it not plain that the lady’s true intentions were placed elsewhere.

The conversation steered to the expedition’s scientific endeavours, and Captain Ross was happy to regale the company about the samples he dredged out from the bay yesterday. I think Lady Jane is an avid student of science herself, or at least keen to bestow her favours to those in the discipline—but her interests were clearly limited to flora and fauna as she was quick to gloss over Captain Crozier’s account of his tidal observations.

“It is all very well how the earth moves and how deep the oceans are, but I am speaking of life, gentlemen, of species living and breathing in the world. I believe that the discovery and classification of living things should be the greatest end of scientific minds. All other enterprises are secondary.”

I wonder what Beaufort and Parry would have said to that—names that, when called on in our occupation, amounted to invoking the saints themselves. You will tell me that I ought to have been magnanimous, Will, that the host of our dinner deserved to retire in the night secure in the superiority of her opinion—only I have spent the last twelve months under the tutelage of a man whose science she so easily disparaged, and I felt more keenly than I ought to the sting of her words.

I recalled in that very instant a moment six months into our voyage, when a gale had come upon us whilst Captain Crozier and I were in a gig. We were attempting to measure the ocean’s depth when the waves threatened to swallow us, the wind very nearly upending our boat. The captain shouted for order, keeping a firm hand on the shoulder of the ship’s boy who was in near hysterics. It was not until I had reeled in our apparatus that he let us row to safety. 

All this for a notation of 650 fathoms. We were put in imminent danger, and were it not for the unflappable leadership of the captain, would have most certainly joined our Creator—and for it to be called ‘secondary’...

“Quite right, Lady Jane. And the study of living things cannot be complete if we do not understand the conditions that grant them their continued existence. How will we decipher the secrets of the whale if we neglect the effects of tidal movements to their habitat? Or the nature of the cabbages in Kerguelen, if we fail to measure the temperature and wind speeds that have against severe odds allowed the plant to prosper? Living things cannot be separated from the invisible forces of the world, and I am certain you will agree that there is much still to be discovered if we examine the sky and stars that we are all under. In tempestas veritas, as it were.”

I truly must thank our mother for her years of convincing us to go to bed in a manner so circuitous that we were convinced the idea was our own. Were I not a sailor, I might employ this skill in parliament.

Lady Jane was ever so gracious with it, though I suspect she is canny enough to take my full meaning. Little Eleanor straightened in her seat and asked me what I thought of Ovid, upon which dear Teddy, bless him, was quick to recite a few phrases. His Latin was never very good, and this reaped a few amused laughs from our company. When I was certain that all attention had been drawn from me, I stole a glance across the table.

I do not think I have ever seen the captain so astonished. His brow was free from its usual furrow, and his mouth was slightly open in wonder. I confess that it thrilled me to see it, knowing myself to be its cause, but my joy did not last and he blinked away from the spell as he reached for his glass. 

Captain Ross put it forward that I must provide the base sketch for the commissioned painting of the observatory, with the captains and Sir John posed at the centre. I suppose he learned of my hobby from Teddy, though Teddy ought to have known that I am disinclined to include people in my landscapes. We agreed on a date for the following month, and I set off the next morning to procure a new set of pencils.

I know I said that I would not bother you with it, but I truly am fond of Rossbank Observatory. It is made to shelter our instruments and stores, but it has also become our temporary home. Not far from the observatory lies our new land headquarters, looking like a country cottage with vines creeping up along its outer walls. Along the complex are tall, lean trees and low shrubs bearing small flowers. The grass has gone brown, owing to the weather, but each day at the sixth bell of the dog watch, the sun would cast it in an orange light and the chimney would fill with smoke. One would think it a quaint village, were it not for the pillar upon which the union jack waved proudly.

I was drawing this very flag when the captains surfaced from the headquarters, Captain Ross the picture of refinement and ease, and Captain Crozier grumbling as he wiped the sweat on his brow. It is abominably hot in Van Diemen’s Land at this time of year, so the captains have chosen to berth in the headquarters. Their hammocks are slung beside each other, and often I have come across them laughing at some shared merriment as they readied for bed. It warms my heart to see them so attuned and in such excellent humour—it is as if the same spirit animates each. Whenever I look upon them, I cannot help but look forward to Teddy and myself in our later years.

Sir John Franklin finally arrived at the last bell of the morning watch, with nary a word for his tardiness. At my signal, the three officers positioned themselves in front of the flag and did their utmost to remain stationary. 

I have never considered myself a particularly good portraitist. I have dabbled in it somewhat, while the porters in Basrah allowed me to depict them, but no matter my efforts I have always felt a glaring absence in the final result. I would examine my work alongside my subject and find no line unhatched, no shadow unshaded, and yet there would be something of the person that my illustration did not quite capture. 

However doubtful I was of my abilities, it seemed that my best attempt proved sufficient, for Captain Ross was delighted with the finished sketch. Captain Crozier pointed out how well I had rendered the trees and Captain Ross agreed. He then asked Captain Crozier if he might spare me to illustrate some of the marine samples that he and Hooker had collected.

“You might ask my lieutenant, James. If he agrees, I am prepared to recommend him.”

I would have readily answered, but Sir John chose that moment to impose himself on our company. He is not quite as I imagined, but I suppose I have none to blame but myself for expecting him to have remained the sprightly, tragic hero of the Coppermine expedition. Sir John has not manned a helm for 16 years, and is much diminished for it. Only a fellow sailor would have recognized the unhappiness settled in the droop of his stance—I suppose that is why our captains have allowed him to be so involved in our affairs. Sir John smiled as he shook my hand, then said how he was looking forward to my regular presence in Hobart society.

This somewhat confused me, for while I knew that we would be docked in Hobart until November, Sir John had made it out like I was to stay with them permanently. I looked to Captain Ross for guidance, and with a warm smile he informed me that I was to man Rossbank while the expedition proceeded to the Antarctic. 

“I am sorry to say that you will miss our first foray into the southern regions, though with Sir John as your host, you will not be left wanting. The steady land will also be more amenable to your sketching.”

He said this as he clapped a firm palm on my shoulder, the thump echoing with a ringing finality.

My dear Will, I cannot begin to explain to you the mingled sensations that I felt when I realized what had been decided for me. You know well enough that Ross was my preferred commander, and here he was entrusting a significant part of the expedition to my care. Moreover, he was willing to let me provide the illustrations to what I am sure will be a well-received memoir in the annals of the naval and scientific communities. 

This should have been a great source of happiness to me, and yet there I stood, staring at the fading visions of my imagined future: of myself at the quarterdeck as we charged the Antarctic pack; of Teddy, waving to me as he wrestled with a baby seal; of the captain, nodding proudly at my readings for atmospheric pressure—all these bright spots snuffed with a hand on my shoulder, for how could I refuse?

“Or,” Captain Crozier started, “or we can give it to Phillips.”

“Phillips? I thought he was your best at the needle. You wanted him supervising the Mag.”

“Yes, well, I can do that myself, and we still need a draftsman to do the charts. Fitzjames here seems more than capable.” 

Captain Crozier gestured to my illustration on the easel, and Captain Ross studied it with a considering hum. I stood as still as stone. I could barely breathe, let alone remain standing on my feet. Was it only that morning that I had sharpened my pencils and set up my contraption? My own future now depended on the configuration of lines and shadows that I had rendered. Captain Crozier cleared his throat, and at his whisper of my name I looked up at him and held his gaze. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there: a slight, reassuring nod.

It is such a profound relief, Will, when you need not worry of having to be understood.

“What of John Davis then?” said Captain Ross. “I recall you mentioning that he had a good eye for map-making.”

“He does, but I would rather a lieutenant attend to the charts than bother my second master from his ship duties. There is plenty enough to do, as you know.”

Captain Ross arched his brow and turned his scrutiny from my sketch to Captain Crozier. I darted my eyes between them, rapt and captivated as an entire conversation unfolded without the use of something so inane as words.

Captain Crozier won out, and, however befuddled, Captain Ross pulled Sir John aside so that he may introduce him to the new officer-in-charge of the observatory. Phillips knew of his appointment by the dinner hour, and I learned that it had all worked out for the best, for he had taken a liking to a young lady in one of the boarding schools and was keen to settle.

Now, I do think this has been the lengthiest missive I have ever written. I would have indulged you with longer, but I am running low on paper and the clerk is knocking on my cabin door as I write. Remember me to our mother and to our friends, and for love of me, Will, do try to follow your doctors’ orders. When next you write, you may have the pleasure of addressing 

A future Antarctic veteran,

Lt. James Fitzjames  
H.M.S. Terror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jfj made pretty [illustrations](https://indifferent-century.tumblr.com/post/185188783061/drawings-by-james-fitzjames-during-the-euphrates)  
> his rossbank sketch = [this but in pencil](http://www.artnet.com/artists/tasmanian-school/governor-franklin-commander-crozier-and-capt-ross-_G-4oEUFtvTJqknS65iIjw2)  
> his fate if he [stayed in hobart](https://handfuloftime.tumblr.com/post/621937281354350592/a-moment-of-silence-for-lieutenant-jh-kay-of-the)


	4. 1840 november, auckland isles

My dear William,

It gives me the greatest pleasure to inform you that Madame La Carlotta Coningham Fitzjames, Ship’s Cat of HMS Terror, and Owner of Mine Own Heart, has given birth to kittens! The result of my three hours of fanning and fretting are two very fine specimens, born in the last week of this month, and judging from their colouring are the progeny of the grey striped manx that has appropriated the hold for its love-den. 

The new members of our muster have raised the spirits of everyone in the ship. While the men have readily succumbed to the kittens’ affectations, I am pleased to report that even the captain has fallen prey to their charms. He has been in a dour mood since we left Hobart, and I am glad that the little creatures have managed to chase away the black cloud that used to engulf him. I have often caught him bent over the water bowl in Lottie’s corner, cooing at the kittens to take a sip.

The raising of two vulnerable newborns on a ship is no trivial matter, and seeing as their mother has no shortage of affection for me, the responsibility for their care has fallen to none but myself. I asked the captain if he would allow them to be kept in the Great Cabin, and when he agreed, I fashioned a small bed near the brazier where they might keep warm. They were presented to Captain Ross by way of a china plate brought in with the tea. He was much bemused, but he was graceful enough to christen the dears ‘Annie’ and ‘Colly’.

Of course, they were not such ‘dears’ after they woke and tried to climb Captain Ross’s uniform.

As for myself, my time has been split between _Terror_ and _Erebus_ ever since we docked in Rendezvous Harbour. Teddy has been charged with the construction of yet another observatory, while my services have been commandeered to illustrate Captain Ross’s marine specimens. It seems that my dinner speech made quite an impression on him, for scarcely have I boarded _Erebus_ in the mornings and there would be no less than five tasks to be accomplished before the end of the forenoon watch.

He is a taskmaster indeed, but I cannot find it in me to complain for the man is nigh indefatigable. There are days when I would hardly see him or even hear his voice. If he is not on the island collecting albatross eggs with Hooker, then he is on deck supervising the absolute determinations. Lieutenant Bird lost his whereabouts once and in his distress sent out a search party to the island, only to discover that Captain Ross had been in _Terror_ all along. This started a joke among the Erebites that anyone who boarded _Terror_ was bound to vanish from sight—a jape that I cannot blame them for. The ships have been separated at sea so often that one would think our route was planned by throwing darts on a map and ‘hoping for the best’. 

In my idle moments, I find myself thinking of Lieutenant Phillips. I am glad for him truly, for I find the arduousness of taking hourly observations well-suited to his demeanor. I have just realized how miserable I must have been during the first months of this expedition, having had to suffer his silent, stoic company while knowing that Teddy reigns free on _Erebus_. Now I have the pleasure of a livelier fellowship and I am much refreshed.

It has been so long that I forget if I ever mentioned him to you, but the assistant surgeon in _Erebus_ is a naturalist by name of Joseph Hooker. He hails from Suffolk, and despite my having only four years an advantage on him, has the countenance of a volunteer in his first voyage. Perhaps that is why I have tacitly taken him under my care. He is a bright, young man—a bit sickly if left in the sun too long, but very determined to make a name for himself as a scientist.

Together with Hooker, I spend the hours illustrating and analyzing our samples of flowers, lichens, and all manner of algae. It is probably difficult for you to imagine my sitting still for so long. Rest assured that my vigour for all manner of adventure remains, only Captain Crozier has cured me of my restlessness, and I need only to envision his presence behind my ear for all thoughts of tea breaks and walks about the deck to fade away. There is a good deal of work to be completed and I would berth in _Erebus_ to have it all done with sooner, only I will miss my dears, and I fear Teddy will get it in his head to slip inside my cabin and assault me with the linen. It is my own fault and I cannot begrudge him for plotting his revenge.

Still, our proceedings are far from dreary. When we are not slumped over our sketches, we go on excursions to the island to gather botanical samples. Teddy is aggrieved that he cannot accompany us, but between you and I, Will, I rather think that he would have found the exercise quite dull. He is not one for meticulous work, though I would imagine he would enjoy taking a shot at petrels with Doctor McCormick. 

On our return from these excursions, Hooker and I carry several sacks bearing the island’s native flowers. Some of these Hooker draws and presses within the pages of a book, and the others I have him transplant into pots so that I may raise them in _Terror_. I think they make considerably fine additions to the Great Cabin, especially the large purple variety that looks like daisies. 

Now I cannot end this letter to you without recounting the gala that Sir John so generously hosted prior to our departure from Hobart. Every officer was invited, from the captains down to the petty officers. This alone consisted half the entire company, and you can imagine the mayhem that this caused aboard the ship as each man dressed their Sunday best. The captain was so anxious for the men to look presentable to our hosts that he had set his steward to inspect the line and ensure that all buttons and boots were perfectly polished. This led to the minor oversight of the captain himself having no aid, and Mr. Jopson prevailed upon me to look in on him in case he was having trouble with his epaulettes.

“Please, sir,” he said to me as he sewed a tear on the armourer’s sleeve, “I’m afraid it will fall off should he slam his fist on the table.”

He really need not have worried, because when I made my way to the captain’s cabin, he was already in full dress, epaulettes secured and white gloves at the ready. He must have thought I was his steward, for no sooner had he seen me in his periphery that he motioned me to the open bottle of macassar oil on the writing desk. I removed my gloves and poured a few drops on my fingers, then stood opposite from a distance until he eventually turned my way.

Here is a theory: if I were to publish woodprints of the several expressions that the captain makes, I think I could fetch a healthy sum for it. I already have ‘generally displeased’ seared into my memory, and I can put to paper every fine line for ‘begrudgingly impressed’. ‘Openly astonished’ will need more practice, and now I can include ‘slightly puzzled’ to my growing collection.

That is four plates, Will. When I joined this expedition, I would never have thought that I could build a fortune out of my captain’s features.

Naturally, he was confused by my presence, but at that moment Jopson’s steady voice filtered from the fo’c’sle and the captain soon had the right of it. He glanced at the bottle of oil in my hand, and on perceiving what I meant to do, nodded his permission. I stepped closer and let my fingers sift through the hair over his forehead. It always fell on his brow, no matter how Jopson groomed it, and many times I have had to keep myself from brushing it upward and tucking it neatly behind his ear. The moment filled me with such a surge of satisfaction that I patted smooth the top of his head for good measure. 

“There,” I said. “All ready for Lady Jane’s scrutiny.”

The captain very nearly snorted. “Damned if it’s her I’m trying to impress.”

Our entire company arrived at Government House at exactly 7:00 p.m., upon which we were led to a large dining hall adorned with many flags. Two of these, I noticed, were rather crudely designed. I whispered as much to Teddy, and when he told me that it was the handiwork of the crew in honour of the captains I felt like an utter git. I do recognize the sincerity behind it, though having grown with our mother’s poetry, I would not think myself unqualified to judge the merit of those verses. Had the men asked an officer, I would have volunteered my services.

The rest of the night went as these affairs do: there was a string of speeches which we all felt obliged to give applause to, followed by dinner, then dances. I bid Phillips good luck on both his appointment and engagement—I understand the lady was so enthused that she fainted prior to saying yes—and in return he told me this most peculiar thing:

“You too, Fitzjames, though I think you will need it more than I. And patience too.”

I have no clue as to what led him to such a notion, but rest assured, Will, that I am not about to propose to little Eleanor. She is an intelligent, outspoken girl, but the poles will melt before I ingratiate myself to the Franklins. 

Several times Teddy and I were prevailed upon to recount our adventures in Mesopotamia, and you would have laughed had you seen us work the crowd. We have gotten it down to the granular now and can perform it in our sleep. It is all in the timing, you see—a gasp from me as Teddy reveals the snake in his bed roll, or a solemn nod from him as I describe how I fell off the camel in exhaustion. I have come to find that if we follow these steps to the letter, we are sure to gain the public’s admiration.

The night was getting on. Teddy wanted to stay and indulge himself with the spirits, but I had determined to leave early so that I could relieve Sergeant Cunningham, who had so nobly chosen to stay on watch lest more of the seamen attempt to desert. I looked for our hosts to bid goodbye but found them in close conference with the captains. 

I saw that Captain Crozier’s forelock had draped across his forehead again, and as he turned the candlelight caught on the accoutrements on his chest. There was a sprig pinned among his medals, a flower that Captain Ross took a liking to and had us all wear. Its yellow head peeked proudly from the captain’s lapel, and when he smiled at Miss Cracroft, I noticed it was the same colour as her hair....

Ah, to be in such feasts again! I left promptly soon after, but not before accosting Sir John’s manservant to transport half the leftovers to the ships as a surprise for the men. I would weave any number of tales of bravery to have them taste a bit of minced pie again. I have heard from the cook that we have butchered the last of the pigs, and it should subsist the wardroom for a good four months if we scrimp to the very last bone. I think of home everyday, almost always at dinner time, and my dreams are filled with the meat pastries we used to stuff in our pockets during holidays.

All this talk of food must make you voracious at the table, and you have guessed correctly if you thought that was precisely my intention. A thousand blessings and kisses to you, Will. It grieves me that I cannot post this until my return to Hobart. I would leave it with the observatory here, but McMurdo tells me that the chances of a vessel passing by and taking on the mail are slim—would that there was a fearless officer among them willing to swim the miles to the mainland. Until that hero is born, you will have to endure the sporadic correspondence of your attached and faithful brother,

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jcr’s a little [confused](https://indifferent-century.tumblr.com/post/620659778033762304/indifferent-century-the-cat-was-soon) but he got the spirit  
> gee, james how did [hooker](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c8/Joseph_Dalton_Hooker_by_William_Kilburn_c1852.jpg) grow on you so quickly. [who](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9f/William_Coningham_%281815-1884%29_by_John_Linnel_%281792-1882%29.jpg) does he remind you of i wonder  
> perfect indoor [plants](https://www.chsgardens.co.nz/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Pleurophyllum-speciosum.jpg) for your great cabin  
> the [hair](https://laissezferre.tumblr.com/post/613119721000288256/frauncis-hair), it haunts him  
> it’s the [thought](https://tttack.tumblr.com/post/190184852204) that counts  
> the [color](https://www.ukwildflowers.com/Web_photos_A/acacia_dealbata_silver_wattle.jpg), it haunts him


	5. 1841 january, antarctica

Dearest Will,

I hope you will not find me tedious for repeating myself, but well, old boy, I am finally  here. When I first wrote that to you I only meant to convey my relief to be once more on the deck of a ship, having spent the months prior in a state of uncertainty, but now my words take on a different meaning. 

I think I have come at a crossroads, William. It has taken me twenty-seven odd years or so, but I do think I have finally found my true calling. I hope you will support your brother in this new employment for it is laborious work, often frustrating, and certainly hazardous—but at each day’s end I wipe the sweat from my brow and swell with pride over my small accomplishments. After all, there are few people in the world who can claim to be professional haulers of wet, wailing, decidedly uncivil mammals onto navy ships. Do not worry for I shall furnish you with illustrations.

We crossed the Antarctic Circle two weeks ago to the cold welcome of a parade of icebergs. The captain announced it in the wardroom, and we very dignified officers scrambled to the hatch with our spyglasses at the ready. In my haste, I had even forgotten to put on my greatcoat. Davis kindly pointed me to a spot at starboard, and I lifted my glass to see a line of jagged shapes adrift, gleaming like twelfth cakes when the sun caught on their surface.

I do not think a sight has ever filled me with as much anticipation as those bergs did, not even the hazy campfires of Beirut at the end of a long journey. I trained my glass on it as we sailed past, keen to observe every detail that I may put it to paper later. Such was my focus that I had not noticed I was shivering from the cold. The captain came up beside me and handed out a wig.

“You look like you’ll be here here all night,” he said, though it was not in jest, and we shared a grin as we looked out at the black sea.

Ten days later and we came upon a peculiar island, rendered most curious by virtue of it being populated by thousands of black and white, whale-like, wobbling creatures. We heard their cries a good mile away, and on closer inspection, the island looked as if it was enshrouded in a carpet of undulating black and white. _Erebus_ was sailing abreast of us then, and from deck I could already hear Hooker in ecstasies, no doubt pushing the spyglass so firmly against his eye that rings formed around the socket. The captain pointed to an anchor and preparations to land were carried out.

Do you recall all those books we read as children—where the heroes would discover entire peninsulas? They would row to the beach and stand in a courtly fashion, then plant the flag to declare their claim. I vividly called to mind those stories as our gig neared the anchor, fully aware that I was about to step into the role of the hero. I knew then that this was a moment to be marked in many journals. Captains will publish the name of each man present. Perhaps stories will be made of it, and a boy not thirteen years of age might read it and want to be a sailor someday. 

My boot shone perfectly as I perched it on the gunwale, having polished it the previous night for this occasion. But on my very first step off the boat, all my fanciful notions of history-making were promptly extinguished.

Did I know true mortification until then? You ought to thank me, Will. Recounting this to you now is making me double over in shame but for you I shall persist. 

There was an elastic sensation under my feet, like a dried up peat bog. On leaning closer, I ascertained it to be hardened dung from the very creatures we were hearing just above the ridge. The entire island was covered in their excrement, and through time, muck covered snow covered muck until the ground turned into a frozen quagmire. A booming cry arose from the landing party from _Erebus_ , and at Captain Crozier’s snickering, I determined it to be none other than Captain Ross. He has quite an impressive repository of expletives, and I regret now that I did not write it down. 

I would have preferred to witness the planting of the flag, but Teddy and I were quickly set to the task of bringing as many of the waddling specimens to the ships as we could. Have you ever carried a protesting animal across ice, Will? I assure you it is no easy feat. The wet fur made gripping them impossible, so Teddy and I had to carry them in our arms as if they were babes. Dreadful enough that we were not wearing slops over our uniforms, but the cretins also had the crust to aim their bills to our faces. One which I have dubbed ‘Artemis’ nearly struck out my left eye, and on its doing so, I deposited it most ignobly on _Erebus’s_ deck and left it to Hooker’s lancet.

The rest of our fare were generally quite tame, but there was an irreverent one, a male according to Hooker, who had used its flippers to do a good number on Captain Ross. I heard that Captain Ross was all too ready to slam his boot to the creature who had so accosted his rump, when he slipped on a pile of fresh dung, only to be caught by Captain Crozier from a rather humiliating end. 

Later that day, I asked the captain how he had acquired both ‘sea-legs’ and ‘turd-legs’ in the span of one career. He looked at me as if he wanted to slam  his boot to my rump and I left it at that, though he did mutter something about ‘neighbour’s cows’.

A week on and we sighted another island, larger and blessedly absent of penguins. We approached a small beach with our boats but it was hard work to effect a landing. A low headland jutting out to the water was spotted, and Captain Ross decided that we climb its base instead. He clambered over to our gig and extended an arm out to the rock, whereupon Captain Crozier leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Captain Ross reared back and laughed goodnaturedly.

“Ah, old boy! If I put my hand on it, the body must follow.”

He leapt with a dancer’s grace just as the crest reached the breakers, scrambling upward as the waves lapped at his feet. He reached the top amidst the men’s cheers, then made a beckoning motion for Captain Crozier, who followed suit with equal finesse. I was set to take my turn when a yelp rang from the other boat, and I had only a second’s glance before Hooker’s head disappeared under the water. 

Now, I am no hero, Will. I am only very good at playing the part. The sea is less lenient than the Mersey River, but you of all people know that what I lack in sense, I make up for in perseverance. You need not fret for I was not in much danger. 

I dove before reason could overtake me. Hooker had fallen between our boats, and it was a simple matter of grabbing him by the collar and swimming to one of the gigs. I breached the surface and several voices were shouting, the captain’s among them, further making me lose my bearings. The frigid water rendered me almost immobile, and Hooker in his panic was pulling us both under. Something caught my arm and I tried to shake it off, only to realize that Sergeant Cunningham was hoisting me aboard. Someone else must have taken hold of Hooker, for my load had become lighter and only the wet wool of my greatcoat weighed on my person. 

The entire affair lasted no more than five minutes, but I heaved for air as if I had been swimming for hours. Coats and shirts were removed to warm us, and very soon we were bundled together not unlike Annie and Colly on a particularly cold day—shivering, but safe.

The proceedings on the island were blessedly brief after that, about half an hour or so. Doctor McCormick transferred to our gig to examine us, and on his consulting his watch to measure my heartbeat, I realized that my own had fallen to the deeps, along with the sledge compass I kept in my pocket. No large losses compared to a life but I grieved for them nonetheless.

Captain Crozier was very quiet when he returned. I managed a shaky grin to reassure him of my health, but he did not even spare me a glance before giving the order to row back to _Terror_. He has barely addressed me since then and whenever we find ourselves in the same room I can sense his ire, though he has not given me any sort of reprimand. It reminds me of a mussel: the way he will be sharing a jape with Jopson then quickly growing tight-lipped at my presence. I confess I do not quite know what to make of it. 

The captain has no reason to be upset with me, for I have only done my duty in trying to save a member of our crew, and any one of the men in the boats would have thought the same. He has always been forthright in making his displeasure known, so I do not understand this sudden turn at delicacy as if I am expected to fumble my way to his true meaning like a suitor in a novel. 

Oh, if only he can be plain with me! It is vexing that I still cannot pick my way through his assorted temperaments. You would think that I would have mastered it after all this time, and in truth there have been moments where we have turned to each other with a warmth that would be more akin to chums than captain and officer. That congeniality seems beyond us now and I am confounded as to why.

I have spent the past few days in the wardroom plotting the charts of our new discoveries. Captain Ross has named them ‘Possession Island’ and ‘Franklin Island’, and I am half convinced the latter may well explain my misfortune. Jopson has tried to convince me that the Great Cabin’s windows can provide better light than these lamps, but I told him it would be folly to lay out papers while the kittens are in the room. Lottie herself has spilled many an ink bottle, and I would not be amiss in assuming that her litter will follow suit.

I wish I could speak to you now, Will. I have no doubt that you will impart me with some hint, some facet that I have failed to consider in this conundrum that has stolen my precious sleep from me. As it is, two oceans separate us and I must content myself with hearing your counsel in my dreams. Do you think he is upset because had I perished he would have been left with one lieutenant in the ship, which is most inconvenient? McMurdo is not so inept, surely. No matter. I will rest my pen and then myself and hope we may meet in a warmer place.

Your brother,

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [gleaming](https://media.nationalgeographic.org/assets/photos/000/217/21777.jpg) like twelfth cakes  
> [penguin heaven](https://www.kunst-fuer-alle.de/media_kunst/img/36/g/36_10104~john-edward-davis_possession-island-victoria-land-11th-january-1841.jpg)  
> no beach means impromptu [wall climbing](http://iceblog.puddingbowl.org/archives/franklin2_mod.php) for the lads


	6. 1841 february, antarctica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end notes for content warning

Dear William,

I write to you now fresh from the remnants of a pleasant dream. I am afraid I am unable to tell you exactly what it is, because try as I might I cannot quite remember. Nevertheless I woke up at dawn today with a mind sharper than ever and a bearing so rejuvenated I might as well have slept on a bed of silk. I would attribute it to the weather, but the boatswain tells me that the sea last night was rolling as it always was and carried the ship with it.

So many things have happened the past month that I scarcely know where to start. We have witnessed many wondrous things that are grand to the extreme and well worth the trouble of coming to see, the most notable of which is the presence of a volcano in the Antarctic.

I had been in _Erebus_ when we spotted it, Captain Ross having requested my presence to ascertain how the map was going on. Teddy and I were counting icebergs from the crow’s nest when we sighted two landforms peeking from the island in front of us. We thought it was dark clouds at first, but on bringing out our spyglasses confirmed it to be mountains, about 20 miles apart from our determinations. The fog had been so thick in recent days that we had not been able to survey beyond the coast, but a fortunate wind suddenly came upon us which drove the heavy fog over the island South East. 

Ah, William, how can I describe such beauty to you? You cannot imagine our surprise when the fog cleared and revealed that our mountains were not mountains at all, but volcanoes. Doctor McCormick mentioned to me that the rocks he collected from Franklin Island were volcanic—little did we know that we were to find the likely source in two weeks’ time! The smaller volcano was dormant, but the larger one had at that moment a steady trickle of red, hot magma sluicing down its sides. It is one of those sights that boggles the mind and by all accounts should be impossible: a white mountain of ice that spews out fire and rock. 

As if by greeting, a slew of magma lurched out of the peak and rocketed up in the air, instantly illuminating a nearby bank of clouds in fiery orange. It was too far inland to cause us any danger, but that did not stop me from quaking in my feet. I realized then that we may well be the first and only members of our race to have witnessed such a magnificent spectacle. I had hitherto not quite grasped the distinction of our particular branch of the Navy, but on seeing Mt. Erebus erupt, I have now a fuller understanding of why we are called the ‘Discovery Service’.

I maneuvered in the crow’s nest and looked out at the sea behind us, opposite the volcanoes, to _Terror_. My past three days in _Erebus_ had been an outright pleasure, but at that moment I had an inexplicable urge to be with my messmates. I could well imagine what the deck would have looked like then: Davis with his sketchpad at the ready, the ship’s boys scrambling up the ratlines, Cunningham keeping it all in order, and of course— 

“ —bloody raked fore and aft and blind to it.” 

I caught only the tail end of what Teddy said, but when I turned to him and made a questioning noise, he only rolled his eyes and bent down to begin his descent. 

I returned to _Terror_ that very day, and it was not a full 24 hours hence when we came upon another glorious view, this time by way of an enormous wall of ice impeding our path south. 

Captain Ross explained to me that in the Arctic, the night sky was painted with the lights of the Aurora. One could look up to find swathes of green turning blue, yellow turning pink. I remembered feeling a tinge of regret then at having enlisted for the wrong polar voyage, for we could never find such equal beauty in the Antarctic. How wrong I was!

On the afternoon of the 28th, we came upon a wall of ice looming about 200 feet above the water and stretching as far as we could see. It gleamed like an iceberg whenever the sun shone on it, in several hues so bright that it illuminated our deck and we were forced to wear our snow glasses. Imagine the colours of a prism trapped in a chunk of ice the size of France—that is how singular and exquisite the barrier was. 

Now I shall not misrepresent it, for it was as bleak a panorama we ever saw in these waters. At the wall’s lowest point, I climbed atop the highest yard and saw nothing beyond but a flat, white desert of ice. I do not think anyone could live there, not even the Arctic Highlanders—and I suppose that is all for the better. It gives me comfort that so long as our species lets it alone, that landscape will forever remain as I saw it, sparkling with snow. 

I was sketching that very landscape inserted herein when a sharp movement steered my eye to the quarterdeck. The captain was pointing at the main staysail. McMurdo then went off to have it reefed, smiling as he received a slap on the arm.

Call it a tide of sentiment, Will, but I do wish the captain would speak to me. We could very well spend the rest of this expedition in cold formality, but I would be dishonest if I said that I would be perfectly satisfied in the aftermath. He is after all the reason that I am even here and not languishing in an observatory in Hobart. In my effort to give him no further reason to be displeased with me, I have taken to spending entire days observing with the Fox and getting well drenched for it. If I am not doing readings, then I would be holed up in the wardroom, making myself scarce and perfecting my charts. 

Perhaps I should not have hidden myself away, then what came next would have well been prevented. During the 5th, I made the rare decision to emerge from the wardroom to consult an almanack in the Great Cabin. I need not fear coming across the captain, because he had gone over to _Erebus_ that afternoon with McMurdo. I had even been looking forward to stretching in front of the brazier with some tea, but on my entering I realized the room was chillingly cold. 

Do you remember my last letter, Will—how Hooker and I were bundled up like shivering kittens?

It was then that I heard a shrill cry coming from the direction of the cat bed. I cannot recall now how I ended up from one end of the room to the other, but somehow I did, and before I knew it I was yelling for Jopson and tearing a very cold Annie from Colly’s embrace.

Oh, the poor thing! Her eyes were shut and I felt no pulse. Jopson rushed inside, and on grasping the situation at a glance, tried to stoke the stove to life. He rushed back out again to get more coal, and all the while I was cradling little Annie in my palms and trying to restart her heart. I do not know if it did her any good, but there was not much else I could have done until we got her warm again.

Jopson moved aside so I could kneel in front of the fire. Colly’s wails became louder, and between that and Annie’s lack of response, the panic within me rose exponentially. Had I really held this creature on the day it was born? Did my hands shake then as well? You might think that I ought to have been more hardened than this. I am in the Navy after all; surely I had seen worse sights, but I think, Will, that it will always strike differently when it is someone you have watched being born.

Suddenly, gloved hands encircled mine, gentle and steady as they pried open my hands and took hold of Annie. Captain Crozier bent down and blew a stream of warm air to her face. The snow on his head had yet to melt, and when it did, it seeped into his hair rendered gold by the fire. He muttered sweet words as he applied small presses to Annie’s chest, until, with great effort, she took in a ragged breath.

It would be rather unsatisfying if I told you that Lottie chose this moment to make an appearance, but that was precisely what she did. She slithered between my legs, and the captain and I watched as she took Annie by the ruff and deposited her to the cat bed. Lottie glanced at us, meowed, then proceeded to thoroughly clean her kitten’s fur, calm as can be. 

“All right, Lieutenant?”

I blinked and turned to the captain. His hand was on my back, and I realized that he must have addressed me more than once.

“I—yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The captain straightened and held out a hand to pull me up. I reached for him gratefully, recognising that this gesture meant our animosity had come to an impasse. But when I stood, all the excitement must have strained my nerves and I had to make an effort to regain my balance. The captain caught me by the elbow and squeezed my hand. I could feel a hole in his glove, right on the knuckle of the smallest finger where my thumb was pressing against the material. 

“Have you told him, sir?” McMurdo said as he entered the Great Cabin.

Jopson returned with a tea tray, and we three officers discussed our next course now that the captains have decided to close the season. With summer at an end and the wall impossible to penetrate, Captain Ross preferred that we make a headway northward than risk being beset with our current provisions. Afterwards, Captain Crozier gave me stern orders to rest in my cabin until I was needed. 

I have followed his command, and for the past six hours have been engaged in restful sleep and thus awakened as refreshed as I have mentioned at the start of this letter. Lottie was on the foot of my bunk when I woke, her little angels tucked in the crook of my neck.

Well, William, I do believe that is the bell for breakfast I hear. I am sorry to say that our season has been cut short—I had been looking forward to at least a few weeks of wintering in order to start a theatre company, or perhaps a newsletter. Nevertheless our achievements in this round alone are sure to grace the headlines of many papers. With good winds, we are due to arrive in Hobart by May and you can be sure that my first order of visit will be to the postmaster’s. Adieu for the present and God bless you.

Yours ever sincerely,

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning:  
> a pet almost dies and has to be revived
> 
> actual notes:  
> i just want to put it on record that i want nothing more than for them to fcking kiss, i’m tearing my hair out rn this is ridiculous  
> while jeames was [pining](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4abe539f278917ec83f63fb125c924fd/54a510b19b8aed40-7a/s500x750/7a4253cc19716c66857321094f21f21073a3e99c.gif), hooker was [painting](https://twitter.com/biodivlibrary/status/1015943733446172672)  
> franklin island has [pretty rocks](http://iceblog.puddingbowl.org/archives/120-2080_IMG.php)  
> sadly the [ross ice shelf](https://news.illinois.edu/files/6367/806788/168136.jpg) has been melting at an alarming rate over the years  
> frauncis’s leader language is [physical touch](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ddb4ce56c5a04c89624a6fb492c77cc2/7bcd0efcca2c52c7-aa/s400x600/50ab01837cae1895e0d906f28144e4d8113718fc.gif)  
> art commissioned from the inimitable [mcclintock](http://mcclintock.tumblr.com/)
> 
> and before anyone accuses me of plagiarism, yes that’s an odyssey reference


	7. 1841 april, hobart

Dearest William,

I do not believe I should ever call you that again — dearest — not when there now exists someone who can say it with such depth of attachment that not even a beloved brother can provide. Goodness, Will. Of all the humdrums and tragedies that I had imagined your letters to bring, the news in your correspondence from November 12th was not something I could have conjured in my wildest imaginings. If you will recall, whenever we sailors toasted to our ‘sweethearts and wives’, I would often exclude myself from partaking. The prospect has never really crossed my mind, having preoccupied myself with attempting to advance in the service. 

Nevertheless you have my heartfelt congratulations on your nuptials! Although my voyage has been tremendous, the lives of those I hold dear are moving ever onwards while I am away. My deepest regret is that I was not by the pews as you said the words. Who else could have caught you had you found it convenient to lose consciousness at the very spot?

I confess that I scarcely know of the Meyricks, though from what little you have told me and from what I know of your inclinations, I am all too desirous of being better friends with your Elizabeth. I do not worry at all if she will be disagreeable. She is after all the wife of him whom I love best, and between our shared affection for you, we are certain to be fond of each other. 

It seems superficial now to tell you of my goings-on when you would be fully occupied in embracing the happy trappings of your new life, whereas I am back in Van Diemen’s Land as if I had not gone at all. But let me assure you that our return was anything but uneventful. As soon as we dropped anchor, I dragged Teddy by the arm and spent the next few days visiting our old haunts. There were not very many, this being Hobart, but there were one or two drinking-houses where the company was respectable and the liquor less so.

Our purpose was not entirely leisurely of course. We are to have a ball held on the ships on the 1st of June, and Teddy and I have been tasked with outfitting the decks for our lordly guests. We have had all sorts of ideas and consulted everyone in our circle, including, if you can believe it, the young Mrs. Phillips. Teddy is of a mind that we must hang swords along the canopy walls, though where we would procure that many and what we are to do with it after the occasion is a mystery to me. I have put it forward that we use mirrors instead, all the better to reflect the candlelight, but Teddy is unnaturally adamant in his stance and I have a feeling that we have finally come to an argument that our friendship cannot survive. 

Lady Jane suggested that we cover the tables with red baize, and though it is against my moral judgment to agree with whatever she says, I must grudgingly concur that it will look fetching with the polished shine of the upper deck. We passed the dressmaker’s on our way back to the ships, and when the proprietress learned how many bolts we required, she wept openly in joy and blew her nose. 

She is a very sweet woman. Before we left her shop, she gave us a cravat each, and though we could not have worn it with our uniforms, Teddy embraced her and kissed her on the cheek. Teddy’s mother, as you know, is sickly and not long for this earth. As such he is always overcome with sentiment whenever any aging woman so much as pats him on the head. No one ever has of course, owing to his height, but that is beside the point.

It was rather fortuitous that I did eventually have occasion to wear my new cravat. That very Sunday, Lieutenant Bird and I larked to a disreputable part of the city on a matter of surveillance. The captains heard word that a production had been put up based on our voyage and Captain Ross was very eager to see it. But Sir John advised that the play was poorly made, and worse, was rumoured to advocate sedition in the colony. Captain Ross sent us to report on the veracity of this rumour, though I have a feeling he only wanted to take measure of the actor chosen to depict himself.

We could not have arrived in our uniforms, and it was only by the steward’s miraculous work that the holes in my old frock coat could be rendered almost invisible. I paired this with the lavender waistcoat you gifted to me when I passed my exams, along with the striped ascot from our dear dressmaker. 

Now I had not been to the theatre-hall in ages, and breathing that smell of dry air and old drapes inspired in me such memories of comfort that I could not have anything but kind words for the play no matter how appalling it could have been, which is to say it was not. It was a passable form of entertainment, better written than it was played, and I do think that having twenty or so five-foot tall penguins surrounding five members of the cast was a very accurate depiction of our sense of powerlessness in that accursed island. One penguin had its costume collapse, owing, I suppose, to the fresh glue melting from the heat in the stage, and the poor thing had to be rushed to the wings before it could suffocate.

Bird cackled in his seat at the merriment, then nudged me and said how well the actor playing Captain Crozier resembled the real person. 

“Surely not,” I declared. “He has a full stone on him at least, and those teeth!”

Captain Crozier, if I have neglected to mention, suffers from a gap in the front of his teeth. He is very conscious of it and would not smile unless under duress, but when he forgets himself the effect is most charming—very much unlike the actor whose pronounced dentures were threatening to consume his own lip. I do not know if this was an unfortunate circumstance or if they had in fact been intentional in depicting this glaring imperfection, regardless I was most irked by it. I fumed silently in my seat, and Lieutenant Bird teased my peevishness. I know he was once messmates with the captains, which should have been all the more reason to come to his friend’s defense.

We left the performance-hall while _Erebus_ slowly rolled to stage left, taking a wistful ‘Captain Ross’ with it as he waved goodbye to the penguins. We saw none of the ‘seditious undertones’ that Sir John hinted, although the penguins did join together to push one unfortunate sailor off an iceberg. 

It was well past dinner when we returned, and on locking myself up in the Great Cabin I shucked off my frock coat and loosened my neckerchief. The captains were berthing again in Rossbank, so I had no compunction to stretch my legs on the stern windows and cradle the newest kitten on my lap.

The kitten is the lone survivor of a litter in _Erebus,_ and before the men’s morale could be further affected, Captain Ross had the animal transferred to _Terror_. Since he heard of Captain Crozier’s particular noble deed, Captain Ross has taken to calling him ‘Franciscus Cattus Servatorem Crozier’. Whenever he did so, Captain Crozier would ask him if he would like his face acquainted with a pile of penguin shit. It is a mercy that our captains are so exactly suited to each other, or else our two vessels would have been in mutual bombardment long ago. 

I enjoyed a quarter of an hour of the kitten’s purring before rolling up my sleeves to work on the ball. Captain Ross had given me a detailed list of 350 guests, and it was now my herculean task to consider all their haughty enterprises and wounded histories to produce a seating arrangement that would not leave the ships a heap of flames by morning. I wrote names on cards until the end of the dog watch, the table in the Great Cabin having nearly run out of space when the door slid open to reveal the captain. 

Naturally, I had not expected this and was hardly dressed for inspection. I hastily stood as he closed the door, and the motion caused him to whirl round in alarm. The captain blinked his eyes and stared dazedly as I fumbled for something to say. He must not have expected the room to be occupied, and I immediately regretted inflicting myself on his time alone.

I greeted him a ‘Good evening, sir’. He glared at my untied cravat, with such a dumbfounded expression as if he had never seen a striped ascot before. I had begun to think that he was having an apoplexy when he headed straight for the drinks cabinet to pour himself a glass of whisky. 

He reared his head back as he took a large gulp, and I quickly took the opportunity to make myself presentable. My collar had gone limp and wide open and I grit my teeth at how disheveled I must have looked when he entered. If the night did not end with my duty owing I would be very fortunate.

I whipped round to face him, ready for his ire, but instead I found him studiously inspecting the array of cards on the table. He had a glass in one hand, with the other hovering over a set of cards which I knew to be that of the residents of Government House. 

As you know, I have never really considered for myself what you have so blissfully gained recently, but the captain surely has, and from what I hear pursued it most determinedly. His fingers lingered over one particular name, but, as if caught in some great dilemma, stayed in place. I would have attempted to comfort him, but the card innocently set between us had seemed transmuted into a great gulf, as wide as an ice shelf, and I could not have crossed it without his explicit permission. 

He must be attached to her still, I am sure of it, even after the months apart. It is not as if there were ladies in his near vicinity who would have diluted his feelings. 

A soft wail interrupted our silence, and we looked down to find Lottie rubbing her head against the captain’s trousers. With any other sailor I might have bristled with envy, but the captain had well earned his right to Lottie’s affections. He bent down to scratch between her ears. 

“Have you been to the new college, sir?” I said, anything to stave him off his melancholy. “I saw the official Rossbank painting displayed there. It has ended up quite differently from my sketch, but it looks very commemorative indeed.”

In truth, I thought it rather stiff and cold and a disservice to how picturesque our observatory was. The captain replied in the affirmative and said that while the painting was very fine, he was sorry my effort had been all for naught.

“I wasn’t sure how well a draftsman you were, with nothing but your boast to recommend you,” he said, “but it was an excellent sketch you made and I would rather your signature in the corner of that frame.”

It was then my turn to blink and stare dazedly. I had assumed that it was Teddy who endorsed my hobby to Captain Ross, but it had been Captain Crozier all along. If you remember I had mentioned it to him once and only then, in a shack in Kerguelen Isles where I had been so desperate to prove that I was superior to Phillips. I had not expected him to remember, and because of his doing so I have now the privilege of claiming myself to be an Antarctic veteran. My heart swelled with gratitude. 

“I might make another illustration. Perhaps something to grace these walls. And if it would please you, I will gladly sign it.”

The Great Cabin already displayed portraits of Captain Parry and Sir John, and I knew exactly whose profile would make a fine addition. The captain grinned, wide and unashamed.

“You may add as many sketches you like as long as you don’t bring in any more flowers. God knows how many times I’ve tripped on a pot on the way to the seat.” 

We spent the rest of the night mulling over how many of the Knopwoods could be seated next to a Davey, or if Sir John would be offended if he was to dine within hearing distance of a Bowen. It was tedious work, though, I must admit, also strangely fascinating. I fancy I would have done well had I planned your wedding, but I suppose our mother or Elizabeth’s would have risen to the occasion. 

You mentioned another letter prior to your most recent but I am afraid it has been lost or the postmaster has been very selfish. It is a shame that not all mailmen are as determined as yours truly with regard to their cargo, and for that you must keep a copy of everything you send should this happen again. You ought to write as much as you can anyway, while there is no gaggle of little Williams climbing up your knees and spilling your ink bottles, though I myself am looking forward to being bothered by them on my return. Until that happy day believe me always your sincere brother,

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can’t believe we have actual photos of [will coningham](https://www.npg.org.uk/collections/search/person/mp05186/william-coningham?search=sas&sText=william+coningham)  
> tbh the [anon sketch](https://indifferent-century.tumblr.com/post/613949334768271360/three-explorers-in-van-diemens-land-john) is way better


	8. 1841 june, hobart

Dear Will,

It is with both pride and pleasure that I report to you the rousing success of our _Erebus_ and _Terror_ Ball! You would not have guessed that Teddy and I were at tenterhooks only a few weeks prior, with our supplies being transported so sluggishly that Teddy was contemplating sacrificing one of the goats to invoke godly favour. The critical shipment arrived in the nick of time and we were able to pull off an unforgettable gala which I am sure will be the talk of Hobart for years to come. 

I wish I had sketched a picture of the vessels on the night itself, because you would hardly have recognised them as Navy bombers. We lashed _Terror_ along _Erebus_ so that the ships were moored head to stern, then covered the decks in two large canopies to keep out the wind and sea spray. It was the young Mrs. Phillips’s bright idea to cover the gangway in complete darkness, all the more for visitors to appreciate the splendour of the interior.

The guests started arriving at precisely eight o’clock as per invitation, and perhaps it was the novelty of holding a ball ‘at sea’, but all of them were rightly impressed with the furnishings. After all our bickering, Teddy and I agreed that _Terror_ be decorated with swords while _Erebus_ with mirrors. When I asked him what we are to do with the swords after the occasion, he said that Captain Ross had spoken for all hundred pieces. I have a feeling it will all end up in his Great Cabin.

It was with good reason that we sent most of the crew to berth in Rossbank or else we would have been alarmingly low in the water. With the ships’ company, the guests, and the servants all present, the decks became as full as an egg. The tables overflowed with roast lamb and orange tarts, while glasses were topped with madeira and port. Lady Jane’s pudding circled the room as thoroughly as the fledgling statesmen who hoped to attract the right attention. 

The dances started early at half-past nine. Captain Ross gathered the lieutenants after the first set and instructed us to look out for any unmatched ladies in the dance-hall. He really ought not have bothered, as all the officers, married or otherwise, were already engaged in a contest to enlist the most number of partners for the evening. Teddy cocked his chin at me as he escorted his third lady to the sidelines, and I arched a brow in challenge as I prowled the lanes for an unaccompanied damsel in need of rescue. 

It was fortunate that we placed the mirrors in _Erebus_ , for each movement had the happy consequence of being reflected in twenty or so surfaces, until the panels hung along the canopy became an unending whirl of motion and colour. The candles burned bright, the wine flowed freely, and the fanfare seemed as if it would last until daylight. On observing this I realised that for all Hobart’s homespun reputation, it was undeniable that its lot knew how to have a good time. 

I had never made the arrangements for a function of this nature and scale, so naturally I was very anxious that everything proceeded as planned. I learned from all our little parties at Rose Hill, and I lost count of how often I had gone round the caterers to check on the wine inventory and make sure that the hatches to the decks below remained untampered. It would not do to have a guest sneak around in the fo’c’sle.

Fretting as I was, I must admit that I was enjoying myself—which is not something I could have said for the rest of the Navy. You must have your fill of news in London, and though this colony is late by a few months, the dispatches from Canton do reach us. The irony of my old friends from the _Excellent_ exchanging shots with the enemy whilst I stuffed myself with deviled eggs was not lost on me. Had I joined them, perhaps my hand would be pressed at a wound on my side rather than cupped around the fingers of an eager miss.

Yet again I marveled how differently my life could have been were it not for the graces of one particular man. The captain made a short appearance at dinner after the usual slew of speeches, but after that I had not seen hide nor hair of him, not on the dance-floor and certainly not beside Captain Ross where he usually situated himself. Instead I found him with the band, behind a rather tall music stand which hid most of his face effectively—only Jopson had opted to push his hair back tonight and I would know the lines in that forehead anywhere.

The captain sighted my approach, and something of my concern must have shown on my face for he straightened to his full height.

“Lieutenant,” he said as I neared him, “stand beside me, would you?”

I quickly went as instructed, expecting an order or a retort at my frivolous dancing, but instead he motioned me to watch the revelry before us. I spotted Teddy by the refreshments table eyeing me oddly, his expression as confused as mine must have been. 

Were my mobility not hindered by my dress uniform I would have had a more involved reaction, but as it was I could only stand rigidly as the captain gripped my right arm. His hold stilled just above the elbow, and to any viewer we would have looked like a pair of close chums walking along Drury Lane.

“Captain?” 

He shifted some of his weight onto me, and it was then that I noticed his alarming pallor. I pulled him closer with my arm, expecting resistance, only the rest of him limply followed and I realised the matter was serious. His gloved hand stayed at my sleeve and I covered it with mine, running my thumb through the joints in his fingers like how our mother used to comfort us when we were in the sickbed. 

If Captain Crozier was ill, Captain Ross would have readily made excuses for him, which could only mean that Captain Crozier was present at his own insistence. I could not help but tut my frustration at his carelessness. The captain could be exceedingly stubborn sometimes, bound to his duties with more selflessness than is expected of a junior officer in the Navy. I wanted to remind him that he was a commander still, in rank if not in worth, and that his ambition should not get in the way of his health.

I kept at my ministrations as the sets progressed, and gradually the captain’s hold began to ease. He turned to me to say something, but the music overwhelmed us and I could not read his lips however I tried. I bent my head and bid him to repeat, and when he had put his mouth to my ear, a swirl of green entered our periphery.

I cannot recall now if I have ever mentioned to you Miss Sophia Cracroft. She is Sir John’s ward and niece, and despite only being three years my junior, I have come to find that she is as cunning a conversation-partner as Lady Jane. She is intelligent and quick-witted, with her quips often hidden under a veneer of politeness. As if she is not accomplished enough she possesses a disarming beauty and a skill with the clavier. It is no wonder she has her pick of suitors, one of which was the captain. 

Miss Cracroft had just bowed to her dance-partner when she saw us. She smiled at the captain as she approached, and at the sight of our linked arms, quirked her brows in amusement. Her eyes darted between us, and the longer she stared, the harder the captain’s nails dug into my sleeve.

“Francis,” she began. “I was wondering if I might have the pleasure—” 

“Ah, Miss Cracroft!”

Captain Ross bounded up to us with usual, excellent spirits. He directed the full force of his smile to Miss Cracroft—which is quite formidable, I tell you—and said that as the next song will be the last polka of the evening, he could simply not waste the opportunity to engage the best dancer present, the best undoubtedly being Miss Cracroft herself as Lady Jane so zealously testified in no less than three instances in the last hour alone, and that if Miss Cracroft could grant him this indulgence he would be very charmed indeed. 

The offer surprised us, not the least of which Miss Cracroft, for all night Captain Ross had refrained from the dances claiming that he was reserving himself for ‘his dear Ann’. We stood in a circle like four actors on stage where none of us knew the exact parts we were supposed to play, except perhaps Captain Ross who was all certainty. He grinned and flicked a lock of hair from his face, a curious motion which I have yet to master, and which made Miss Cracroft laugh. She took his arm goodnaturedly, and they were halfway to the dance-floor before Captain Ross quickly doubled back.

“Do check the stern, Fitzjames,” he said. “I believe there is a matter there that needs your seeing to.” 

“Yes, sir.”

He turned to return to Miss Cracroft, but not before throwing a quick wink that caused Captain Crozier to squawk and have a slight coughing fit. 

As it happened there was no urgent matter at the stern, but Captain Crozier was grateful for the fresh air as he bent over the gunwale. He breathed deeply in a slow and steady rhythm, and despite my insistence, was not forthcoming with what was ailing him. All I could do was avert my gaze and give him his privacy.

Do you know, I do not think I ever felt as helpless as I did then. In a ship there were always surgeons, or their assistants—each man was only expected to look after himself. At home, we had our mother and the nursemaid, and I suppose now you have Elizabeth to tend to you in your moments of infirmity. I have never had to care for someone else before, and I scarcely knew where to start. 

I watched the moon in the horizon as music wafted from the closed flap of the canopy. The captains had chosen a perfect day for the ball. The weather gave us no trouble and the waves barely swelled—it was a pity to sleep on such a fine, clear, sunshiny night. But at a single word from the captain, I would declare the whole affair ended and whisk him away below decks. Then I would lay him on his bed and sit on a stool and run my thumb through his fingers until he was well again. 

“Story—” I whipped round and found the captain looking over his shoulder. He remained pale, but his breathing was even. “Tell me a story, Lieutenant. You certainly have no lack of them.”

I certainly did not, but my stories and my manner of telling them were meant for cheerful company, in more lighthearted circumstances. They were hardly ideal for bedside consumption. I remembered how delighted you were when I told you of my thousand-mile overland journey. It sounds an exciting enough romp for a civilian, but I suppose quite drab for someone of the captain’s experience. I could only hope it would at least serve as distraction.

I leaned an elbow on the gunwale and related the whole sordid affair—but not as you had heard it, Will. It was a version that I had only told myself, and once to Teddy when we were both soaked in Allsopp’s. I told the captain of the shame of being plundered in Lemlun so early in our journey, of the frustration of being repeatedly misled by our own caravan, of the weariness that came with riding camels for days on end. Grim stuff to be sure, but I felt then that the captain would appreciate this version more. I was able to elicit a few sympathetic hums from him, and when I reached the part where we had to pawn our clothes to hire a boat, the captain cleared his throat.

“All your clothes?”

I could well understand his discomfort—the gold in his shoulders alone cost a year’s worth of salaries, and to lose it to bandits who would hardly know how to keep it from tarnishing was inconceivable. 

“Nearly, sir, though our lack of comfort didn’t get in the way of reaching our destination eventually. Should the pack ever close behind our ships, you may trust me to walk all the way to the nearest outpost for rescue.”

I did not know if such a thing was possible, and the captain may well have lectured me for it, but I was counting on his ire to rouse a bit of colour in his cheeks. “Let it not come to that,” was all he said, then he stared out at the glassy sea.

The moon was high up in the sky now, and bright enough to illuminate a lone sailboat with its fisherman casting nets overboard. I pointed this out to the captain but found him already facing me, with such a guarded expression that he must have been hiding his pain again. From this distance, I could see the moonlight reflected in his eyes, and while they were rather hazy while we were in the dance-hall, now they were sharp as day.

The music behind us swelled and faded as the current set ended. A lone violin remained, repeating a high, sad melody as it floated over the hum of conversation. It was then I remembered that the next dance was the third waltz of the evening, and that I had written my name on little Eleanor’s card at her request. I said as much to the captain, and he must have had trouble recalling who ‘Ms. Franklin’ was because his face became vacant and even more guarded.

“Of course,” he said. “Young ladies must not be kept waiting.”

I excused myself and lifted the flap to the canopy, whereupon I spotted Jopson immediately. I spun round to ask if the captain had need of his steward, but he was stooped over the gunwale again, watching the small waves break against the ship. 

When the fireworks began at midnight, the crowd rushed out to the stern, but Captain Crozier had already gone.

Looking back, I wonder what else I could have done. Had I known how serious the captain’s illness was, had I taken him to the surgeon right away, might he have recovered beforehand? As it is, his health took a turn for the worse. He had skipped breakfast with the officers the morning after the gala, and we had all envied him his privilege. But when he was still not out of bed by the dinner hour, the doctors were called, as well as the purser, as well as Captain Ross himself.

They spent two hours conferring in the captain’s cabin while I holystoned the deck with my pacing. Jopson came to fetch me, and very soon Captain Ross was telling McMurdo and I that while the circumstances were not ideal, the ice did not give a damn about our plans. Captain Crozier himself was of a mind that he would be completely recovered by the time we reached New Zealand. During his convalescence, Lieutenant Bird was to act as his proxy and Phillips’s old cabin was to be cleared out for his berth.

We departed Van Diemen’s Land as soon as we had completed revictualling the ships. We do not plan to retreat to Hobart again after our second attempt, and I wish we could have parted with it on better terms. It will be many years if ever I am to return to its shores again. 

I waved heartily to Phillips and his new wife as we raised our anchors. We may not have started out the closest of friends, but I am genuinely glad for him. The sea is full of its perils and our forays into the unknown are filled with uncertainty—it gives me comfort to know that at least one in our number has found his ultimate happiness while serving on this expedition. 

As Phillips and his wife disappeared from my sightline, my thoughts strayed to you, and how you as well have found your ultimate happiness in the midst of my absence. Good night, Mr. Coningham, and to your Mrs. Coningham, and God bless you!

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fcking hell this chapter drained me
> 
> that being said, this marks the halfway point of this fic. if you're still here, i can't express enough my gratitude for your patience and patronage and support. if you've ever left a comment, know that somewhere miles away, someone's heart did a tiny leap and that's all because of you. i hope you stick around and find out what's gonna become of these two oblivious idiots. good night and god bless you!


	9. 1841 september, bay of islands

Dearest William,

There — I have called you ‘dearest’ again. You must not begrudge me for breaking my word for I have only done so out of the excess of my own affection for you. I am aware that I can no longer consider myself as belonging to that group of people which you would consider now your ‘closest’ family, but do you know, William, your portrait still hangs over my writing desk. I look at it often when I write these missives to you, so that I might imagine ourselves only conversing over afternoon tea. 

I regret leaving Hobart without having waited for another letter, but in truth Captain Ross was very eager to go and get a headstart on the season. Should this reach you well after November, it would be best to assume that we have already left again for the southern regions and you need not reply. Instead address your next correspondence to the Falkland Islands — Teddy has sussed out our plans at last from Captain Ross and we shall put this information to good use. 

We reached New Zealand in the first week of August and for the last few weeks have been occupied with magnetic observations and pendulum experiments. You would think I would be an old hand at it now but the Fox and I have a relationship which you would call tumultuous. There are days when I can finish a reading in not but five minutes, and then there are days when the instrument is rotten to the core and Captain Crozier has to assist me yet again in resetting its hand.

Speaking of—it was the captain’s birthday on the 16th and we spent the better part of the day and evening on _Erebus._ The wardroom could barely contain us all, though the discomfort was well worth the fellowship. Picture our company of eight around a long table, with Captain Ross and Doctor McCormick at each end. Captain Crozier was sat at one side of Captain Ross, himself being the ‘guest of honour’, with me and McMurdo to his right. Across from me sat Teddy, and sharing his side of the table were Lieutenants Bird and Sibbald. 

I must say that I have missed our command dinners. There were so few of them while we were ashore, the captains having occupied most of their time in the observatory or dining at Government House. The cook outdid himself and instead of our usual fare of ham and potatoes, we were served roasted mutton, so well herbed that when the steward opened the plate we very distinguished officers all hunched forward and inhaled our fill. 

The mutton was courtesy of Sergeant Cunningham, who had gone ashore while we were in Sydney and purveyed sheep from the local farmers. When asked how he had procured it at such cheap prices, Cunningham had said that a contingent of British settlers lived nearby and that one of them was a former midshipman who had become nostalgic at the sight of the ships’ sails. 

After dinner, the officers went up on deck for a smoke while I made my way to the Great Cabin. There was an almanack there that I wanted to consult for the new charts, only Captain Ross was rather fond of it and would not allow it lent out. 

Entering the _Erebus’_ Great Cabin these days was always an occasion, for one was never quite sure what obscure, inexplicable object one might come across inside. Once it was as well organized as the Great Cabin in _Terror_ , if a little lifeless due to its lack of indoor plants, but now it was a lawless jungle of all sorts of things. Books were stowed on the shelves along with specimen jars—some of them empty, some of them containing the preserved remnants of albatrosses, penguin parts, and all manner of unfortunate species. Hooker’s desk was piled with shells and seaweeds, while a side panel contained all 16 chronometers in the ship. One cupboard had been converted into a dresser, with jackets and cocked hats hanging from its railings. 

I drew one of the jackets aside and found, as I predicted, about fifteen or so sheathless swords stashed at the back. I was wondering if Captain Ross’s cabin contained the rest of the lot when Captain Crozier found me. He saw me staring at the swords, slack-jawed, and huffed.

“I see you’ve found his new wardrobe. Don’t let it devour you now.”

I laughed and said that if anything in the room should be afeared it was the jars in the shelves, for when peering at them one could almost imagine their contents coming to life and gouging one’s eye out. 

The captain entered and inspected my work on the table. My sought-for almanack was lying open, along with three other ledgers that I found interesting if rather useless. On the corner of the desk was my lone notebook with its array of notations, and beside it, an old battered copy of the first volume of Marryat’s ‘Midshipman Easy’. The captain arched a brow as he lifted the volume and quickly flipped through the pages. He then teased that if Mr. Easy had been my paragon of a good sailor then it well explained a few things concerning my behaviour.

Now I know what you will say, Will—pulp fiction is hardly literature, but you must allow me my indulgences. And it is not as if I was reading it of late. The book served a different purpose now and it was only right that the captain had it in his possession. 

“Of course not, sir. I would think this kind of reading is beyond us sailors now. Only I wanted to keep the cats from getting at it.”

I motioned for him to spread the book open. When the captain followed, I stepped forward and turned the familiar pages to the end of the first chapter, where the page had but a single sentence and the rest previously blank.

It was not perfect by all means, and it was certainly unconventional. I had stowed it a few days before, and on seeing it once again, was reminded of my many nights of futile attempts, of the crumpled versions that ended up in the brazier. I have told you before that I dislike making portraits, for there was always some aspect of the subject that I could not quite capture. But this was different—it was simple, unembellished, and I felt it represented him true.

In the sketch, the captain stands at _Terror’s_ bow. He has a raised spyglass to his eye and is looking out to the sea. His collar hides his jaw and the brim of his cap casts a shadow over his face. Behind him, the haze of a sundog looms in the sky.

It could almost be anyone—any officer in the Navy, or a merchant seaman with a particularly nice coat—only, to those who knew him, it was unmistakably Captain Crozier. It was in the set of his shoulders, in the practiced way he held the spyglass, in the decided tightness in his mouth, in the surety of his posture as the sea swelled beneath him. 

I had spent hours contemplating how I might portray him, for try as I might I could not conceive his visage in those paintings one found in eminent hallways. Gold nor glory did not become him, and perhaps for that reason the Navy did not fit him either. But one thing was certain—he was a man meant to be in command at sea. 

I am only a lieutenant, Will, and a dubious one at that. I had nothing of worth to give him but this.

“Happy birthday, sir,” I said.

Our heads bent over the sketch, enclosing it like brackets. My heart was in my mouth as the captain traced a finger over the sketch.

“How did…”

I of course could not tell him of my many hours hunched over his sickbed while his poor steward got some well-deserved rest. Instead I told him that he had fine features, that is to say, his features were very distinguished and it was no hardship to put it to paper.

The captain flushed, his lips parting as if to say something before pressing together to form a thin line. It was not an expression of his that I was familiar with—he had looked almost uncomfortable, ashamed—and I worried that my rendering had displeased him. He cleared his throat and closed the book gently, his fingers splaying over the cover, and though my heart was heavy I offered to take the dratted thing back before it upset him any further.

“No, no, it’s—ah....” 

The captain reassured me and said that if he was less than enthused it was only because he was surprised. He had not expected anyone in his crew to give him presents, let alone something that required so much care. He secured the volume to his chest and wrapped an arm around it for good measure. 

“It’s great work, really, like everything you do. You’ve made me—you’ve made it lovely, it looks lovely. I—” 

He drew back, turning over some issue in his mind of which I knew nothing, only that it was so troubling that he had unconsciously bitten his lower lip. After a while, the captain steadied himself, his gaze earnest.

“Thank you, James.” 

I do not recall now how unabashedly I had beamed, only it must have been very wide indeed if the ache in my jaw is anything to go by.

Captain Ross chose that moment to reclaim his Great Cabin, and it was while I was returning the ledgers to their appropriate shelves that he proposed I berth at the _Erebus_ for our second attempt at the Pole.

“I don’t know what possessed me to allow you to shuffle back and forth last season, but it’s better if you remain here so I can oversee your cartography. I’ll send Charlewood to replace you, and all the better for I’m tired of having two of my lieutenants named Edward—Lord knows how much trouble we’ve had because of it. What do you say, Lieutenant?” 

Had he asked me a year ago I would have agreed without any reservation, only it was also a year ago that he had posed that same question to Captain Crozier. You might have to go through the previous letters, Will, but I remember it clear as day. As I had just finished the sketch of Rossbank, Captain Ross asked if he might borrow me to illustrate the marine samples he had collected, and Captain Crozier had said, to the exact, ‘You might ask my lieutenant, James. If he agrees I am prepared to recommend him.’ 

And, well, it seems to me that a claiming works both ways, does it not? Teddy is my dearest friend and I am his, Elizabeth is your wife and you are her husband, and if the captain sees me as his lieutenant, then he is my captain, and it is only proper that he remain mine until the end of this voyage. In fact, should the opportunity arise that he be my First again I am inclined to agree. He is one of the Navy’s best in navigation and magnetism after all. If I stay under his guidance I would be well on my way to a membership in the Royal Astronomical Society. Where else should I be but in his muster?

Captain Ross was eyeing me like a hawk, but he must have perceived something of my intentions for his mouth curved into a sly smile and told me to think it through. We have but two months until the summer season opens but I am quite sure my decision will be unchanged. 

Two months, Will. Surely the merchant ships will sail quickly enough to deliver me another letter of yours. Write to me here if you can, and if not, write to me in the Falkland Islands. I want to hear all about your little occupations as you settle and make your own family. I have not heard anything from our mother but do let me know how she is and if she has gotten any new writing done. I will include a verse here and if you might do me the favour of sending it to her I will be grateful to you. I am sure she will think it terrible but I will be grateful still. 

I am looking up at your portrait again as I pen these parting words, and again I imagine ourselves at the comfort of our childhood home. Be happy, dearest William, and well wishes to your wife. 

Yours sincerely,

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am basing francis’s birthday on sgt. cunningham’s [journal](https://www.hakluyt.com/downloadable_files/Journal/Campbell_Part2_Journal.pdf) so don’t @ me. it’s a primary source and certainly much better than fluhmann’s guessing.  
> i wanted jfj to meet irving, i really did, but they were in [nz](https://collections.rmg.co.uk/collections/objects/12705.html) already before i remembered im sorry!  
> [the curve of his back](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1b7d147f7905bc9856c9fb648acccfc7/02948db995c26f98-d6/s400x600/5d5d204b62c234211a689335bf9a2c1304e9f16e.gifv) lives in my mind rent-free


	10. 1841 november, bay of islands

My dear William,

Captain Crozier has given me stern orders to not exert myself for the rest of the afternoon, and so I have nothing to do but sit down and put to writing what I have struggled to make sense of in the past days. A merchant ship arrived last week with mail from Hobart, and among it was a letter from you, not written lately, but one sent and lost more than a year and a half ago and by some miracle of the postal service has finally come into my hands. 

I wish I had never received it.

At the breakfast table, I had been so amused at seeing the postman’s mark that I had even let McMurdo glimpse the top fold. Oh, how naive is the fool prior to a tragedy! I can scarcely recall the rest of what transpired that day, only that my ears were filled with an endless ringing.

It is difficult to believe that our mother has been gone all these months. I had ascribed the absence of her correspondence to age, or the occupation of caring for the household. It had never crossed my mind that her recurring illness would at last deliver her to our father’s arms. I have marked the date in your letter, and in rifling through my papers discovered that at the precise moment of her death I was happily harvesting wild vegetables for our pantry. There is something wrong in that, Will—how the departing of such a soul could pass without the world letting everyone know. 

Yesterday I found myself reciting some of her verses during my pendulum experiments. To think that those beautiful words now belong to just another printed name, with no life attached to it, makes my heart ache. 

When I lie awake and try to dream, our family is seated by the fire at Rose Hill. It would be morning and our father would be reading the paper, our mother would be pouring his tea, and you and I would be leaning out the window trading japes as we ate little sandwiches. That is my perfect tableau—ourselves in our paradise of a home with no lack of cheerful countenances. 

But it is a fanciful notion, because it is false. Rose Hill is ours no more and has not been since our father left this Earth. While I was in the _Euphrates_ , our mother had written to me of his passing, and I had wished for nothing then but to fly to Hertfordshire and weep on the bed where he breathed his last. Now you have taken on the sordid mantle of messenger, and I dread what the coming missives will contain. 

Should I expect it from you, Will, or from your wife?

Pardon these macabre thoughts. I know you have recovered from them swiftly, seeing as you were quick to attach yourself so soon after her passing. I cannot imagine how you could have possibly managed it. A week on and it remains difficult for me to rise and dress. I do not think a year’s mourning would be enough, and yet somehow you have thrown off the black shroud as befits a son and installed a fancy top hat in its place.

Pardon me again. In this regard I have no right, none at all, to make judgments on you—but do understand that while your pain must have already waned, my grief is fresh. I mourn our mother with a sorrow not to be exceeded. To my mind she still exists, and in my memory she is resolutely alive. 

I am grateful to have shared your family’s company, if however temporary. I can scarcely hope, my dear, dear fellow, that although the final bastion of our connection has eroded, you will continue to allow me to call myself by that title which, apart from ‘lieutenant’, is the only one left to me—that of ‘William Coningham’s brother’.

You will still be curious, I hope, as to my present condition. Ship life is much the same, though there was no hiding my sorrow from the crew and very soon they were making accommodations for me. The captain poured me a full glass of whisky and shared that his mother had also passed before the start of this voyage. 

“Her name was Jane,” he had said, and amidst my anguish I recognized his candour as an attempt at consolation. Were it about any other I would have rejoiced at something that bound us so intimately, but in this regard I could not celebrate—I would have none of it if I could. 

McMurdo graciously offered me his shift at the tidal observations, a routinary task and hardly interesting, but he must have recognised that I was desperate to employ myself. Cunningham too tried to lift my spirits. He is a tight-lipped man in normal circumstances, but on our way to the bay he made all sorts of curious yarns about Chatham that even in my black mood I was helpless to engage him.

It began to rain, and we spent the next two or so hours hunched behind a rock as I watched the tide. The water had risen significantly over the past half hour, and I wanted to approach the coast to measure the height more accurately. Cunningham advised against it, but I told him that I would only be a moment and then we would return to the ships. 

Keen as I was to do my duty, the captain arrived just as I was packing my things. He was white as a sail, and at my inquiring what the matter was, he proceeded to berate our party.

“Bleeding hell, James. I thought the storm had gotten to you!”

It was then that I noticed how thick the fog had gathered, how the marines’ capes were flapping wildly on their shoulders. Over the howl of the wind, Captain Crozier explained how the crew had been firing shots for the past hour in fear that we had lost our way.

I apologized copiously as I bent to gather my things. When I had straightened, the captain beckoned me forward and offered a kerchief. A few, precious seconds passed as I stared at it dazedly, and since enlightenment was not forthcoming, he tutted and proceeded to wipe my face. The cloth came away with grey smears, and I glanced at my hands covered in graphite. 

Around us, the tempest sent loose objects flying, but as expected, Captain Crozier was determined to keep his officers from being anything less than presentable. 

I have no shame in admitting to you that I was almost overcome with tears. Were the conditions substantially different, I might as well have been nine years old, having fallen from my first tree with our mother wiping the mud from my face. The captain did not hold me to his breast, but the sentiment was the same. I wonder if he saw me as I was as well—a feckless child in need of comfort. I stood my ground until he was content with his fussing, holding his gaze as he seemed to avoid mine, and if my cheek was wetter than it was before, we blamed it on the rain. 

We reached _Terror_ before the storm could truly worsen. Clear skies prevailed in the succeeding days and the captains conducted sailing exercises. I was on my way to _Erebus_ when our gig was almost upset by a whale, the bow taking the force of the creature’s spout just as it was blowing. It is a fascinating encounter, if a bit perilous, and while I would normally have devoted a full page to the account I find I still cannot muster my old spirit. 

If it were up to me I would have done away with exercises and boats. I wish to catch a glorious gale of wind that will send us on in grand style and ram us all the way to the Pole. The sooner I am home, the better; then I can finally make a visit long due.

I will await the next letter, Will, and I pray that it is yours.

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who’s ready for that sweet sweet tonal shift


	11. 1842 january, antarctica

My dearest Will,

Allow me to greet you the happiest of new years. I would have written earlier, but the weather has been anything but pleasurable lately what with our usual allowance of rains and squalls. As if the forces of the sea were not enough, a fire broke out in  _ Terror’s  _ hold, and were it not for the captain’s quick thinking our spare sails would have fueled the flames and that would have been the end of these letters.

This is now my second visit to this continent—at least the captains suspect it is so—and it seems as if we were never gone at all. I swear we had encountered in our previous voyage the very same icebergs that we had sailed past yesterday. That is the wonder of this place—everything is frozen, even time itself, and the things you left behind are likely to welcome you back when you return. 

I remember the day we came upon an island infested with penguins, with the worst of my woes being the state of my boots. What a difference a year makes, and what a different man I was. I feel older than my twenty-eight years. 

It will relieve you to know that I have found a well of solace in dear Teddy. He has been a good mate, and I, so difficult, that I sometimes feel his friendship is ill-deserved. His company and berth have turned into a sanctuary for me in the past weeks, and though it must be inconvenient for his steward he has taken to keeping additional linens at the ready should the compulsion to cry overwhelm me again. 

Teddy even took the care of securing me an outfit for the New Year’s party. We celebrated it on the ships last year, but because we have come upon a floe large enough for both ships to moor into Captain Ross has allowed the company to arrange a simple fete out on the ice. 

At his announcement the crew ravaged our supply of costumes like a school of vultures. You would not think it but we sailors have a competitive spirit when it comes to outfitting ourselves—Teddy had to elbow no less than two ABs to snag a dress that he said matched my complexion very well.

Many of the wigs were knotted beyond use but there was one remaining set that was clipped on to make the strands look longer. Teddy fastened this to my head and arranged it to his heart’s content. I do not know how he did it, but as he passed me the mirror I saw that my hair had turned into a veritable forest of thick tree roots, twisting and tucking into each other to form a condensed mass.

“Thank you, Teddy,” I said, meaning more than his hairdressing.

He paused and met my gaze in the mirror. A freshly-picked daisy from the Great Cabin dangled in his hand. “You’re most welcome, Jamie.”

“By the by,” he continued, “have you given thought to what I told you?”

Teddy has wisely used his personal time to write letters securing his next commission. In truth I do not understand his restlessness. We are quite possibly in the Navy’s most promising venture to date and yet he is eager to be moving along. He tells me that he will likely be sent east, to India, and has invited me to join him. I admit it is a future too far off for my consideration.

We set foot on the ice with the celebration already in full swing. I discovered to my dismay that we had missed the captains opening the dances with a quadrille. They themselves did not opt for costumes but were instead in their top hats and blue overcoats. 

Captain Ross was delighted at our outfits, though in my opinion we looked like children playing with the wardrobe. Ever the showman, Teddy spun round to exhibit his cape. He had on a black brimmed hat, a white mask, and a cane with a skull knob. My purple dress was in the style of the previous decade, with its large sleeves and a skirt that ended just below my shins. Underneath I had kept my wool jersey and trousers—this likely ruined the entire kit but I was not such a servant to fashion that I would forego warmth in the Antarctic.

At our appearance Captain Crozier regretted his own lack of costume, so I offered to lend him a daisy from my hair. I had bent to pin it to his lapel when a curl fell vexingly over my eye. The captain was kind enough to tuck it behind my ear, and after I was done he brushed his fingers over the new ornament on his chest.

“Thank you,” he said. “I shall take great care of it.”

Captain Ross was eager to shew off Teddy and his fancy cape to the men. In truth I think he was raring to be in costume himself, his Great Cabin having no lack of selections. All it would have taken was five swords strapped to his chest and he would have been the darling of the night. 

Captain Ross marshalled Teddy to the crowd by the beverage table, leaving Captain Crozier and I to our own devices. In our ambling, we found ourselves queuing for the curious apparatus discovered in  _ Terror’s  _ hold after the fire. From what the clerk told us we have had the box since we left England, only no one had known how to use it until David Lyall, a surgeon _ , _ bothered to open the booklet of instructions and translate it from French. 

Lyall pointed to a spot eight feet away and asked us to keep still. For a moment I wondered how we might position ourselves, seeing as there was no chair or table with which to lean against. The captain cleared his throat and held out an arm.

“Would you do me the honour, Miss Fitzjames?”

I nodded and tucked my hand inside his elbow. With his top hat and the flowers in my hair I could not help but call to mind a pair coming home from afternoon tea. We could be Mr. and Mrs. C—, taking a walk about Regent’s Park to enjoy the remains of the day. Instead of frost under our feet there would be grass and cobblestones, and the shadows of the trees would dance across our faces. 

Lyall’s shuffling snapped me out of my imaginings, and I realised that he was already covering the box and setting aside our plate. He explained that the plates will have to be developed in England, and until we had seen the result there was no way of knowing if he had operated the camera correctly. 

The captain was thanking him for his services when the music from the band changed to a familiar tune. It was supposed to be a Venetian waltz, only our raggedy band turned it into a group of mother penguins crying for their babes. It is such a distinct sound that once heard it remains forever embedded in memory. 

I remarked this to the captain and he let out a chuckle, and then, after a few moments’ consideration, held out his arm once more. 

“Would you do me the honour, James?”

The ice of course was too dangerous for a proper dance. Many a backside had suffered during the night, and having no inclination to follow suit the captain and I merely held each other’s hands and stepped in time with the music. The captain whooped as his boot slipped, and just as he was righting himself it would be my turn to lose my footing. This led to a series of cries and close calls, and grasping and apologizing and giggling like fools.

My jaw began to ache, and I realised that it had been so long since I last smiled that my face likely forgot how. For the past few weeks it had seemed wrong that I should smile, or be anything akin to joyous. And yet I was able to return the captain’s grin without the usual pang of remorse. I discovered as I laughed at his stumbling that I could enjoy myself again. I could be anything other than grieving. 

I had not understood until then what a profound relief it is to laugh. It is like an island in the horizon, the mark of a blessed end in sight.

“Christ, James, are you—”

Perhaps I was too lost in my own thoughts, but I had not realized until the captain drew me to himself that I was crying. He bent his head to meet my gaze and ran his thumb through my tears.

“Oh no, please don’t—please don’t fret.” I tried to chuckle but it came out as a wet gasp. “Believe it or not, these are tears of joy.”

He was far from convinced, but his hand lowered and settled at my elbows, cupping them through the blasted sleeves and worrying at the fabric. “If you’re sure,” he said under his breath.

I took a deep gulp of the Antarctic air and felt it sting my lungs. When I had released it, I felt fresh as the morning after a storm. My head was clear. 

“Yes,” I said. “I am very happy.”

The captain nodded, satisfied, but at my sudden shiver the concern returned to his face. He pressed his gloved hands up and down my arms and before I could sway him removed his scarf and placed it around my shoulders like a lady’s wrap. The grey did not match the dress but it was wonderfully warm. I pressed the soft wool to my cheek. 

“There you are, Frank! Have you seen the ice sculpture? It’s a marvel!”

With the suddenness of a railway train, Captain Ross caught up with us and stole Captain Crozier away. They were nearly lost to the crowd when the captain peered over his shoulder. I waved at him and beamed, so wide I must have looked a regular goose, and laughed as he was dragged by the arm again. 

Teddy found me and volunteered us to a kicking contest. A bucket was installed on a flagstaff, and though my costume hindered my usual flexibility I am pleased to report that I have not lost my touch.

The following hour was dedicated to all manner of reels and country dances that the ice would allow without dealing us a concussion. I took several turns with Teddy, Hooker, McMurdo, and eventually Captain Ross himself.

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” he said by way of a greeting. “I would’ve engaged you sooner, only dear Frank has kept you to himself.”

Captain Ross seemed to take my measure as he led me to a turn, but before I could ask him his meaning he had passed me on to Bird, who was half frozen in his tulle skirt.

Teddy and I had our turn at the portrait box, where I carried him like a bride before I declared myself done for the night. It was near 1:00 in the morning when I left, but the summer sun was still up and the party had no signs of waning. The men were cheering, singing, and despite huddling together for warmth, looked most comfortable and content.

That is why you must not speak of this to anyone, Will. The Discovery Service is different from the rest of the Navy where snagging a bullet earns one a medal. We take on a different foe and making gallant battle against the cold is what allows us a certain amount of reverence. Should there be a whiff around certain circles that we are not at all times in danger or in discomfort then the reputation of the expedition, and the captains, would be put in question. As such it is best that you refrain from sharing this to anyone you would not trust to be discrete.

I hope you will not find it too forward but inserted herein is a short note to your Elizabeth. I ought to have written it as soon as I read of your union, but had I done so I think I would not have known what to say. A lot has happened since and I do believe I am not the person I was. We all of us are running towards the end of our lives, perhaps not at the same speed but in the same direction. With our mother’s passing, many of the tenets that I once upheld have dropped away like old frock coats, and I find my load significantly lighter.

Allow me to greet you once more a happy new year, William and Elizabeth, and with your blessing I dearly hope to remain

Your brother,

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no party like an [ice floe party](https://64.media.tumblr.com/968fe4e8bf3026cbd9c3e32200972a65/6c267827ef9d963b-e6/s1280x1920/f4333bbf1733158c8ec970db74153e09d2cd6456.jpg)  
> the [hair](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/82/6b/a4/826ba4a959dca77163ba2c71943dced7.jpg) and the [flowers](https://www.chsgardens.co.nz/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Pleurophyllum-speciosum.jpg)  
> the [dress](https://laissezferre.tumblr.com/private/626887010059190272/tumblr_f5UTQ1TMyB4SmnJTF)  
> teddy’s [costume](https://66.media.tumblr.com/be0dc0c13f7346bbd4553670d610525f/tumblr_pn4zyoW9951rb0h8ao3_1280.jpg), dont @ me  
> scene [inspo](https://dearemma.tumblr.com/post/620829376590839808/oh-to-be-a-heroine-in-a-jane-austen-movie-and)


	12. 1842 april, falkland isles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw dissociation

Dear William,

Perhaps it will come as a surprise to you that I now write from a colony nowhere near the polar regions. Rest assured that I am not keeping from you the splendours of the Antarctic, but compared to the previous year we have not had much opportunity for Discovery.

When I last wrote to you I had no way of knowing that the party at New Year would be the end of our happy days. Not a week later, _Terror_ was badly damaged during a gale, and between clearing the ice and replacing her rudder our progress was severely impeded. We eventually reached the east end of the Ross Ice Shelf and achieved a new record of furthest south at Latitude 78°9’30”S. However it soon became clear that we could not go further. Our advance was too slow compared to the past season, and with the summer months drawing to an end it was beyond foolish to forge ahead.

Considering the succeeding events I wish had nothing more to write to you of. I would certainly prefer it if the rest of our voyage had been unremarkable, but unfortunately our retreat had the most ghastly weather I ever saw. The sea was running in all manner of ways with a heavy swell and the ships were tumbling about to such an extent that going to bed was impossible. 

It was just past midnight on 13th March, with _Terror_ sailing ahead at a brisk seven knots in thick snowy weather, when one of the seamen reported seeing an ice blink. This alone set us on edge for while an iceberg was worrisome, to attempt to navigate it in pitch dark was nigh impossible. The foretop men sighted the berg but it was a comfortable distance away, and having done several, similar evasive maneuvers under our belt, the captain calmly gave the order to reef the sails. And then everything went to hell. 

What I tell you now has the benefit of being in the past tense, with ourselves having the opportunity to sort out our own versions of what happened. Excepting the captain, we were certainly not as self-possessed as I sound in this letter, but even that exception is moot.

Do you remember stealing away our neighbour’s cart one morning? The horses trotted for a good mile before the owner noticed our caper. We saw the fox raise its head as we approached, but despite our shouts and whistles it had stayed in the middle of the road, quaking and staring wildly at us until we closed our eyes and had not the bravery to look beneath the wheels afterward. 

I have never related to that fox as much as when I watched _Erebus_ steer to port, coming out of nowhere and colliding directly with _Terror_. 

It was as if the earth had given a mighty jolt, the world tilting sideways and thunder clapping directly into my ears. In trying to clear another iceberg, _Erebus_ hit us at the starboard cat-head and broke our anchor in two instantly. I myself was fortunate to have been hurled against a supply pile, but the force was such that it knocked almost every man to their backs. 

With our vessels being half beams and ropes it was inevitable that we became entangled in the waves. Sometimes _Erebus_ rose above us, nearly exposing her keel, then descended as we in turn rose above a wave. We collided several times as we rode out the turbulent sea, our yard arms striking together at every roll.

I had caught hold of a loose netting and was tying it to myself when I noticed Sergeant Cunningham crouched under the quarter boat. He stared agape at his surroundings and I knew immediately that he did not have complete control of his bearings. I dragged him across the wet, slippery deck like a sack of coals, and it was not a minute later that _Erebus’s_ gangway smashed the quarter boat to atoms. 

There was no question that we had to detach ourselves from _Erebus_. If the ice did not claim us, the ships would finish the job of tearing each other apart. _Erebus_ had its bowsprit entangled with the rigging from our mizzen mast and I saw that it was only a matter of time before the column snapped as cleanly as our anchor did.

I marshalled Cunningham to help me engage one of the cannons. We felt in our pockets for a matchstick but everything came out wet and useless. I do not know which goddess of Fortune was present but Mr. Jopson appeared at the precise moment, a lit tinderbox carefully cupped within his hands. By some miracle the wick caught aflame and a ball of roundshot flew to our target, breaking it into several pieces and setting us loose.

_Terror_ reared from the sudden release and righted herself. It was now past 1:00, and even if our consort ship was not in danger of punching a hole to our hull, the bergs surrounded us still, looming high above our mastheads. 

A dark spot was sighted up ahead and orders were made to sail to it. The captain’s voice rang clear and composed in the air, as if we were steering into any docile harbour instead of what could possibly be a shadowed wall, or a rock of gargantuan size. We sailed at speed towards the shadow and discovered that it was a passage indeed, an extraordinary clearing between two icebergs that measured not twice the breadth of the ship. The foam and spray dashed against us at each side as we passed. 

I believe I have had my fill of adventures, Will, most of them perilous, but never until those moments did I truly understand what fear was. I wonder how I did not lose my sanity, but I think it was from example. The captain strode across the deck as if we were merely conducting sailing exercises near the coast of New Zealand. The floorboards were drenched, the rigging in tatters, and three sailors were well into their hysterics—but Captain Crozier paced among them with a cool disposition bordering on inhuman.

He is not, of course, inhuman, and I say this not just because of the consideration he has given me. The captain startled mid-step and whirled round to the danger behind us. 

“Where’s the _Erebus_?” he cried. 

In our relief we had completely forgotten about our sister ship. We last saw her disappear into the thick, hazy rain, with many of our booms rolling in her deck. The captain had _Terror_ turn out immediately and got the topsails reefed. 

We burnt a blue light to guide _Erebus_ through the night, and in two restless hours she answered with her own. Her bowsprit was gone, along with the anchor, foretop mast, and main top gallant mast. It was a testament to a fine crew and even finer captain that she was even able to maneuver herself. Teddy told me that before they had crossed the passage they were sailing in reverse, their stern slicing through the sea as they compensated for their lost foresails. I did not think such seamanship was possible, and though I am forever beholden to _Terror_ I wish I had witnessed it.

We waited for daylight to assess our damages and discovered all the iron work in our hull torn off. There was no time to dawdle, and after making merely the most rudimentary of repairs we continued our retreat northward. It was only when we reached calmer waters at Berkeley Sound that Captain Ross rode a gig to visit _Terror_. 

He was already in the water by the time we received the signals and both McMurdo and I rushed to the hatch to greet him. He barely spoke as he passed us and was quick to dismiss Jopson’s offer of letting him out of his coat.

“James?” Captain Crozier’s voice rang from his quarters. He slid his door open and met us in the Great Cabin. “I would have come to you.”

In the years I have known him, Captain Ross has always greeted his Second with a congenial spirit, but in that moment his expression was so aggrieved that I suspected he had arrived bearing grave news. Captain Ross strode over and clapped his hands heavily to Captain Crozier’s shoulders. He drew Captain Crozier to himself and surrounded him in a tight embrace, curling his palms into fists and bunching the thick wool of Captain Crozier’s uniform. 

“We thought we’d run you down,” he said shakily under his breath. “Bird saw the black swallow you and we thought you’d sunk.” 

It was at this point that McMurdo, Jopson, and I collectively averted our gazes from the scene in front of us. We had not been dismissed, but it was obvious that the vulnerable display was not meant for our viewing. Captain Crozier made soothing noises, and a quick peek showed him slowly rubbing a hand up and down Captain Ross’s back.

I am prone to a little melodrama, Will, and so I am of a level immune to it, but I must admit that even my heart swelled at the sight. The captains are the bravest men I know, but our near escape from death must have shook their nerves more than anything that had befallen them. In that instant I dearly longed to be with Teddy and smother him with affection. 

“I know, James dear, I know.” 

For a fanciful moment I thought Captain Crozier had addressed me, but my error was soon corrected by Captain Ross’s clearing his throat. He was still sniffing, but the line of his mouth had begun to curve into a smile. Then he turned to me and frowned.

“You blew up my bowsprit,” he said, and at my frantic attempt to apologize he reared back and laughed.

“Steady, lad. I won’t reprimand you, not when you’ve so conveniently proven to Frank that a gunnery officer is needed in our muster. Didn’t I tell you, old man?”

They eased again into their teasing and for a while I basked in the glow of Captain Ross’s approval. You might say that shooting at a sister ship is hardly cause for vanity but I am only human, Will; you cannot expect me to brush off a compliment from Captain James Clark Ross.

“Yes, no man lost, thank God. Bird is rattled, naturally, but he’ll recover his good humour soon enough. And you?” Captain Ross asked. “No lingering effects, I hope?” 

In this, he would be disappointed. For all our open admiration of his level-headedness, I found Captain Crozier quite the opposite the night after the collision. I would not have known how to react then, except I found you in a similar state some years ago, and though I am sorry to have stirred up memories you would rather forget, it is the single well of experience from which I could draw upon.

The captain was sitting in the Great Cabin with a full glass of whisky on the table—a natural occurrence in itself, especially at the end of a hard day, but the whisky was untouched. I cleared my throat to announce my presence, then called a good evening, and having received no response to either I cautiously rounded the table and stepped in front of him.

He sat stooped on the chair, his eyes blank and unblinking as he stared at the floorboards. His hands lay palm up on his lap, the fingers trembling and twitching of their own volition. 

“Captain,” I said, softly so as not to startle him. 

I knelt beside him to meet his gaze but his eyes remained distant. Slowly I reached for him, touching my fingertips to his. Were these the same hands that gently held my Annie as he breathed life back into her? The same hands that wiped the tears from my face? They were so steady then, so reassuring, and to have them laid out like this, broken and defenseless… Had his need not been greater I would have wept.

“Sir, come back.” I curled my hands over his and held my breath. 

“Please.”

He remained still. 

“Captain.” 

Still... 

“...Francis.”

His name was so foreign to my tongue that I almost stumbled through the letters. I had always referred to him as Captain, both aloud and in my thoughts, and to call him by his Christian name seemed not only impolite but profane. I had not been permitted this particular indulgence, but if it would startle him to lucidity then I would transgress as much as necessary.

He did eventually come to it, gradually, though how long it took I cannot remember. My knees were aching when he finally blinked to full consciousness, and at the sight of our joined fingers he was completely baffled. 

“You needn’t worry, James,” he said to Captain Ross. “I’m perfectly fine.” 

He glanced at me as he did so, and for the first time in our cherished acquaintance I did not meet his eye. I slid my gaze to the chair not three strides away from him and tried not to recall his hunched form in the lamplight.

I am sure I do not have to tell you to wait until the official accounts in the papers have been published before speaking of this to anyone. The public record will likely be altered to be more suitable for drawing rooms, but be assured that it is no invitation to reveal what I have divulged to you. I certainly cannot share any of this to Teddy, but if I am left to keep it to myself I will lose my head as I nearly did on that fateful day.

A thousand blessings to you, William. It is my keen hope that in your end of the world you have less secrets to contend with than

Your brother,

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the collision was the realest shit and it has [so](https://adam.antarcticanz.govt.nz/assets/display/104371-max) [much](https://64.media.tumblr.com/dc36610e7f72b20f9636a178d65fb5f2/fbb2c97b39b4d666-af/s1280x1920/a46d3919d4fd0e7ea73e195f66bec99b71bcec71.jpg) [art](https://collections.rmg.co.uk/mediaLib/481/761/bhc3654.jpg)


	13. 1842 july, falkland isles

Dear William,

Do you know, it was only when I sat down to date this letter that I realized we have been on this expedition for nigh on three years. I joined this venture with the full expectation of my many years of absence, but I do not think I was quite prepared to be deprived of your company for so long. While your letters have done their utmost to curb my homesickness, they are a far cry from the warmth of the real thing. 

We have spent the past few winter months on the arduous work of transferring supplies on shore and repairing the ships. Captain Ross has turned into a veritable taskmaster and will suffer no further delays. He has been in increasingly pretty humour in recent weeks, having had to report our lack of progress to the Admiralty, and I do not think the admission sits well with his pride. I heard that there were two little tiffs with Hooker and McCormick, though none of the three of them are perhaps blessed with the best of tempers. 

Captain Crozier and I witnessed them row during a command meeting and I very well felt the walls of the room quake at the volume of their voices. In a surprising fit of pique Captain Crozier thrashed his fist on the table. This sent an innocent sugar lump towards the direction of the skylight but it also had the effect of having every man instantly shut his mouth and sit straight, Captain Ross included. I confess that whenever I recall the moment I do so with a certain amount of relish. Best not repeat that to anyone or I will be called out and shot.

Our nerves would not be so strained had we docked in Van Diemen’s Land once again. It may have been an unfashionable backwater, but compared to the Falklands, Hobart is a glamorous haven. There is not a single place here of interest, no library or drinking-house or anywhere that a man might cultivate a hobby, and I have searched. The captain and I went on a botanical excursion once and came away with four woeful specimens of dry algae. 

To entertain ourselves, Teddy and I have resorted to a contest of sending out the most number of letters to our acquaintances. He has been seeing to my next commission, even if I have yet to agree, and he tells me that I have a good chance of claiming a lieutenantcy in a brig-sloop last seen in the port of Bombay. Teddy said that should the expedition proceed accordingly, we may pay off early in Brazil, and from there buy passage to Madagascar, then Bombay. It is an incredibly thought out plan, as expected of my messmate in the Euphrates, but my heart remains with our current exploit.

I cannot possibly spare a thought for what could be in store in a year’s time, not when I have officially become the captain’s Second. A medical survey was conducted in _Erebus_ last month, the result of which was McMurdo and one other being invalided home. Archibald suffered frequently from a constitutional malady and our nearest brush with death finally brought his affliction to the fore. I miss his company greatly. With him and Phillips gone, I alone remain of _Terror’s_ lieutenants. It is a responsibility that weighs heavily on my shoulders, but I look on it with enthusiasm now that Teddy is transferred to the berth opposite mine.

I was almost certain that Lieutenant Sibbald was to fill our ranks, but in the eleventh hour Teddy descended from _Erebus’_ gangway accompanied by a ship’s boy carrying his chest. Teddy claims that our expedition leader has long wanted to be rid of him, having no patience for two Edwards in his officers, but I know from personal experience that Teddy can be very convincing on occasion and he has certainly acquired Captain Ross’s ear. He must have planned the timing of his transfer to coincide precisely with my birthday. 

My 29th birthday was a very simple occasion as far as parties on _Terror_ went. It also had the double purpose of commemorating Captain Crozier’s promotion to post Captain. He and Lieutenant Bird received their papers the day before my birthday, and instead of holding another party the captain had asked if he might intrude in my celebration.

We feasted on salted pork and steamed pudding, and halfway through the meal Mr. Jopson surprised us with a tray piled with orange tarts. This was a luxury considering that the Falklands could barely accommodate our revictualling, but Teddy only clapped me on the shoulder and said that it was the least he could scrounge up, having no present to give me.

“Although there is time yet,” he said. “If you don’t mind the wait, Jamie, I’ll name a son after you.”

I laughed at his teasing and stuffed three tarts into my mouth. They were exceptional tarts, I must say. I regret not having saved some for later.

Afterwards the captain and I proceeded to review the list of our incoming shipments. We have had to import many of our supplies, including a new bowsprit, and it has caused me as much anxiety as when we were expecting our hundred swords for the gala. I was laying out the lists in the Great Cabin when the captain resurfaced from his berth, sporting a shy smile that made me instantly curious. In his hand he held a small object, something round and brown that resembled an oddly shaped pocket watch, or a mirror.

He held it out, placing it on the center of my palm, and I discovered that it was not a pocket watch at all but a sledge compass. My own compass was lost in my attempt to rescue Hooker, and while that model was issued to every officer in the Navy, it was clear that this was different. The brass was covered with worn leather, and the viewing slot had started to deform. The captain motioned for me to open it, revealing a thoroughly scraped glass face on one side, and a card bearing the initials “W.E.P.” on the other.

“My captain gave that to me on my first expedition to the North Pole,” he explained. The compass bore the marks of having served him well, and I was thrilled that he would even let me hold it. I sensed his fondness for the instrument as he ran a finger along the glass, a ghost of a sweet memory fleeting over his face. 

“What do you think, James?” he said, and at my bemused expression, he added, “Will this do for a birthday gift?”

My first instinct, of course, was to refuse. To be given such a sentimental gift was to be burdened by it, and it seemed as if I was being entrusted with something more than a navigational tool. My mind immediately conjured the silliest of quips: how he could give me his new rank instead, or his berth, or that if he truly wished to give me a present, he might wait until we had docked in a more civilized colony and we could plan an excursion to the shops. 

It was amidst my floundering that I realised the true gravity of his present. If Captain Crozier’s captain had given this to him during his first North Pole expedition, that being in 1827, then the sledge compass had once belonged to none other than Sir William Edward Parry.

“Sir,” I stumbled. “I can’t possibly accept such a valuable memento.”

The captain shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m giving it to you precisely because it is valuable to me.”

He folded my hands securely over the compass, pressing his hands around mine.

“You’ve been, well, you are much like this compass. You have become invaluable to me, James. I have relied on you greatly in recent months and you’ve borne it without a word of complaint. It’s the least I can do, to thank you.”

I cannot speak for _Erebus_ , but on _Terror_ , it is the captain who has struggled the most with the lingering effects of our near escape in the Antarctic. The trembling in his hands does not abate, and there are days when he can barely hold a teacup at breakfast. Because of this he has taken to eating alone and has delegated all magnetic observations to me. After dinner I join him in the Great Cabin, and under his direction I fill out the ship’s log. 

During one of these nights, the ship’s log was barely spared an ink blot when the table’s contents were swept away by the captain’s arm. The motion unsettled nothing but maps and papers, and, having found no satisfaction, the captain simply growled and leaned his elbows on the table. He joined his hands as if in prayer, glaring intently and willing them to stop shaking, but they did not.

I sat as still as stone, wondering if I should go on with my work or leave him to his privacy. Slowly, I mined the courage to pull my seat across from him and reach out, prying his hands apart and smoothing the indentations that his nails had left. I offered him no platitudes, merely held him, until his silent fury morphed into muted sorrow. This has happened thrice already, and all have ended with that defeated expression on his face that I desperately wish I can wipe away. I would have liked to claim that my assistance improves his condition, but there seems to be no effect at all.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” I said. I tried to loosen my grip from the compass but his hands bound mine in place. “I’m your lieutenant, sir. I don’t do it as a favour, only I… I…”

My throat had welled up, unable to continue. The captain let out a huff and smiled encouragingly. 

“I’m certain that what you do, James, is already beyond what any Second should. Please, just take it.” 

He looked down and ran a thumb along the knuckle of my forefinger, over and over, as if trying to impress his meaning unto my skin. “I want you to have it.”

No man could have refused him then, even under threat of a lashing. I carry the sledge compass on my person everyday, tucked in my breast pocket and secured with a chain. 

You see now why I cannot possibly spare a thought for Teddy’s missing ship in India, not when a tremendous amount of trust has been placed in me. I will see this expedition through to the end, and if that means an early parting with Teddy in Rio de Janeiro then I must simply make the most of the remaining year with him.

A year from now seems so far away, but when I look back on everything that has happened it seems a trifle of a wait. How I do miss you, my dear William, and I long to meet you, my dear Elizabeth. With God’s blessings & my love, I remain

Your brother,

Senior Lieutenant James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crozier’s v sad [algae collection](https://laissezferre.tumblr.com/post/622008746931109888/tttack-fragments-of-croziers-southern)  
> an antarctic [sledge compass](https://ltwilliammowett.tumblr.com/post/617997839356837888/an-arctic-sledge-compass-with-two-spare-cards)
> 
> dear reader, three chapters from now seems so far away, but when I look back on the past thirteen it seems a trifle of a wait. we're getting there, lads! thanks for reading.


	14. 1843 january, antarctica

Dear Will,

This will be a considerably short missive seeing as the weather does not let out long enough for a man to indulge in contemplation. We have been constantly on our toes lately and I would not wish to bother you with excessive details on our perilous sailing. 

Having had two attempts at this continent it is refreshing to see it from the Eastern side, though I cannot say we are any nearer our goal for it. It is a perfect lottery what sort of season we have and whether we happen to be at the particular spots in the most favourable moments. We were able to christen a small island not two miles in length with the unfortunate name of Cockburn Island, but other than that the pack has been nigh on impenetrable.

To put it mildly I can only recall last December as a series of near disasters. It was as if the Antarctic itself wished us gone and was spouting us out of its waters. There was the usual showing of rough weather, and though you would think we would be used to it by now, the collision from last season was still fresh in our memory. A particularly strong gale dealt heavy damage to both ships and the captain had to placate no less than three seamen who had lost their wits and tried to hide in the orlop.

A week after that, water entered the cabin window while we were tacking. I do not think I have ever seen the cats rocket out of the Great Cabin at such speed, although my amusement was curbed by the captain’s papers getting wet. I feared that my portrait of him had been ruined, but thankfully he kept my gift secured in his berth.

It soon became clear that we will finish the season with the Pole remaining elusive to us, so we instead set out to perform as many scientific experiments that the weather permitted. I have no doubt that despite the disappointing results of this season, our expedition on the whole will be viewed favourably. To mount an attempt at each year and return hale and whole is no mean feat, but I suspect Captain Ross thinks otherwise. I dare not cross to _Erebus_ lest he be once again in bad humour, thus Captain Crozier has been attending the command meetings alone.

On the morning of the 20th, the weather improved and we came upon a floe that was large enough to accommodate both vessels. Orders were made to conduct magnetic observations ‘on shore’, as well as harvest algae from the nets. It became a field day of sorts, with the men making multiple trips between the ships. 

What we had not anticipated was the floe breaking apart.

An ice floe seems like a very sturdy thing. The frozen patch of sea looks deceptively solid, similar to a field of snow, but at any turn of the current it could break apart quickly, and soon a man would find himself surrounded by an archipelago of ice with no bridge to cross to safety.

I was not out on the field when it happened, but a significant number of the officers and crew were on ground when we heard the first pieces break off. There was a very distinct crackling, like the dull sound of rocks rolling from a cliff face, followed by the unmistakable slosh of rushing water. The ice beneath the men’s feet shifted, and only those of us on the deck had the advantage of height to see what had caused the movement. I realised that the edges of the floe were chipping away and wasted no time ringing the bell toll for all hands on deck.

Every man ran for the nearest ship they could board. Erebites clambered up to _Terror_ as if they were being hounded by a wild animal, but the animal was the fatally cold Antarctic sea. I scanned the crowd for the farthest person out and saw Mr. Lyall with the camera, hurriedly packing copper plates to a wooden case. He attempted to carry the apparatus but it was clear that the added weight affected his balance. He was assisted eventually by an officer, but my relief turned into dread at realising that it was Teddy.

Teddy tore the camera from Lyall’s hands and pushed him along. They ran towards _Terror_ and made good speed, with Lyall occasionally turning to check if Teddy needed assistance. Each time Teddy dismissed his concern with a gruff nod, the last one causing him to miss a bolt of sail left by a pair of panicked seamen. That was when he tripped.

I was surrounded by shouting and disorder, but I tell you, William, no sound could have drowned out the crack that rang in the air as Teddy’s head hit the ice. 

He went limp instantly, and as if I myself had slipped, my knees gave out and I had to catch myself on the gunwale. Lyall doubled back to help him up but Teddy remained immobile. Behind them, another section of ice broke from the floe.

It is difficult to convey precisely what went on in my mind then. I was both scatter-brained and in the moment. I could barely hear what was going on around me, although I knew that somewhere on deck the ice master must be putting the men to order. At the same time, I could see the exact shade of Teddy’s hair, how it had gone darker in the damp, and how a fringe fell down his eye as he slowly turned his head and attempted to get his bearings.

A brawny-looking man came up to them and I realised that it was Davis. He passed Lyall his sketch book and easily swung one of Teddy’s arms over his shoulder. Together they trudged towards the ship, Teddy struggling to walk as the ice chipped away not twenty feet behind them. It was only when they cleared the gangway that I began to breathe again. I pushed off the gunwale and drew Teddy into my arms, holding him tight as he laughed off his injury and clapped me in the back.

Someone called my name and I looked up to find Cunningham, who reported that the entire crew had been accounted for and that excepting Captain Crozier who was at _Erebus_ , all Terrors had safely boarded along with ten Erebites. Teddy and I shared a look as we suddenly found ourselves the senior officers in the ship.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” I managed to say. “Please tell the ice master to attend to my orders.” 

I will not tire you with the myriad of inanities that a captain must account for in running a fully rigged ship, but suffice it to say that even if our circumstances were without risk, and should I have had several years of commanding a vessel under my belt, I would still be uneasy. This was _Terror_ after all, and she remains Captain Crozier’s despite his unfortunate absence. I was sure then that the captain must be peevishly prowling _Erebus_ while we were in full view, and it became of prime importance that I deliver his ship to him in prime condition.

With a firm advice to Teddy to rest down below, I strode across the deck, shouting instructions from bow to quarter. Luckily the wind was astern and we had only to pull the ice anchors up to gain speed. I posted watches at the sides. The topsails were still reefed so I ordered them unfurled. I sent an AB to man the spanker, ready should the wind change and we needed to manoeuvre quickly. 

“Gentlemen,” I greeted Mr. Roberts and Mr. Oakley at the helm. They stood at attention as I relayed my directions. Thirty degrees precisely clockwise, all the better to keep the wind behind us and avoid the bergy bits coming in from the southward.

_Erebus_ signaled to proceed East. _Terror_ followed suit and soon we were proceeding at a good two knots, the break off from the floe far behind us. I took a deep breath of the Antarctic air, feeling it sting my lungs, then let it out with a relieved huff. I looked around me and found the seamen at their posts, the officers ever alert. Everything was in order. Except Mr. Wilmot remained hidden between the quarterboat and a pile of rope.

“Owen,” I called out to him. I was but five strides away but he ignored me. Slowly I neared him and hunkered down, casting a shadow over his figure and shielding him from the rest of the ship. 

Owen Wilmot could not be more than eighteen. He had joined the expedition fresh from a promotion to first class volunteer. I remember him from the mess recounting his virgin voyage, glowing with pride at having fired congreves in South America. Now, Wilmot’s cheeks were striped with tears, and his lashes were heavy with newly formed ice. His breaths came out shallow and quick, and at my approach he wrapped his arms tighter around himself.

“Owen,” I said, softly this time. “You’re safe, Owen. It’s over, you’re safe.”

As he sat there shaking, I wondered how many more men this expedition would break. Suddenly I had an intense desire for our voyage to come to an end. It had left its mark on all of us, from the youngest to our very best, and we each of us deserved to go home.

I looked up and noticed a seaman wandering, an Erebite who had run to _Terror_ and was now meandering about like a forgotten buoy. I beckoned him over and told him to escort young Wilmot to the galley. 

“Get something for yourself as well. Can you cook?”

The seaman frowned and shook his head. “I can’t say I can, sir.”

“You will have to learn then. We’ll send a gig out for your lot as soon as possible, but while you berth here, you are to be the cook’s mate. Among other things.” 

I gestured to the trembling Mr. Wilmot. The seaman nodded in understanding and I shook his hand.

“Welcome to _Terror_ , Mr. Diggle.”

Just then a heavy slap landed on my shoulder, and I turned to find Teddy seemingly recovered and grinning. The look was indeed very convincing were it not for the ice pack he held to the back of his head. I glared at him, but he did not even do me the courtesy of flinching. 

“All well, Captain?” he teased. I glared at him some more but this only made him snicker. When he had sufficiently indulged himself with my ire, Teddy adopted a serious expression.

“Really though—” he glanced at Diggle and Wilmot as they descended the hatch—“it suits you, Jamie.”

Teddy, though good natured, was never effusive with his compliments, and his words settled warmly in my stomach. I nibbed him at the side with my elbow and for a while we gazed out at _Terror’s_ deck, pondering the near calamity that we had barely escaped. It struck me then that this could be our future together, Teddy and I at the helm, noting its sounds and motions with our trained eyes. I had merely to choose it.

“I don’t think I can go to India with you, Teddy,” I said. 

I should have told him sooner, but shame needled at me for wasting his effort to secure our commissions. For years we were inseparable, sharing an expedition if not a ship, and until recently a career without Teddy somewhere in the vicinity of a half mile seemed nigh unthinkable. I turned to him, expecting betrayal on his face, but instead he smiled.

“I know, old boy,” he said. “I was only waiting for you to tell me. Took you long enough, eh?”

He laughed then, and I realized that my jaw had hung open in surprise. I asked how he could have guessed but he simply said that he knew a lost cause when he saw one.

“And besides,” he added, “it’s taken hold of you now. Whether they send you South or North, you won’t be satisfied with just another commission, Jamie. You’re no longer a mere sailor; you’re an explorer.”

Only Teddy could have laid out so plainly what I had been struggling to put into words. Perhaps it was when I sighted my first icebergs, or when Mt. Erebus erupted just as we sailed past, but at some point in this voyage I had decided that the rest of my life would be devoted to discovering the wonders of the polar regions.

Above us, the main top gallant sail caught a heavy wind, snapping in place with a sudden crack that sounded cruelly familiar. I shook Teddy’s hand and pretended to impart a few wise words, from senior officer to equally senior officer, until he doubled over and choked on his own laughter. 

Teddy will be well, I am sure of it. _H.M.S. Clio_ will gain a fine lieutenant.

It will not be long before we sail for home, before I see you, your Elizabeth, and someone I hope to be in your arms when you meet me at Greenhithe. Teddy still jests that he will name a son after me but be assured that you are under no obligation to follow his foolish lead. I am sure that you have already thought to christen your child ‘Louisa’, but if you are blessed with a son then I humbly put forward that you name him after our captains, who are sure to be knighted. ‘Francis James’ has a rather nice ring to it. 

So much for my short missive, but I do hope this letter will amuse you somewhat as you go about your little employments. God bless you, Mr. and Mrs. Coningham, and believe that I remain as ever

Your sincere brother,

James Fitzjames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> davis’s [sketch](https://www.watercolourworld.org/painting/walking-pack-ross-expedition-tww004384) before shit happened (pretend that’s lyall at bottom left)  
> meanwhile, francis was “onboard the erebus at the time and had to run for his life” (cunningham, jan 16 1843).


	15. 1843 april, simon’s bay

Dearest William,

Eager as I am to begin my letters to you with pleasant anecdotes, I regret to inform you that the summer of ‘42 is not the ghastliest weather I ever saw. In my writing to you then, I fully believed that we had survived the worst that the Antarctic could throw at us, but when we were determined to part with it for good it seemed to bid us a final goodbye and make a showing of its awesome powers. 

I write this from Simon’s Bay so you can be sure that your dear brother has survived, but recounting it sends me into a bone-deep exhaustion all the same. 

Unlike last season there was no chain of icebergs to impede our retreat from the Weddell Sea. Having learned our lesson we kept a good distance between our vessels and ensured that we always had our consort in sight. What assailed us now, and perhaps more treacherously, was the relentless, rough weather. 

The Antarctic blessed us with a ferocious barrage of heavy rain and sleet, pausing only for gales to take its place. Months passed in this way, with the crew squeezed belowdecks and only surfacing for their turn at the watch, after which they would return cold and soggy and had to be escorted quickly to the heating stoves.

Though anxious to make a headway, we were unable to proceed at full speed lest a stray iceberg escape our sights and puncture our hull. The number of men doubled in the watches and each of us slept with half an eye open, ready to jump into action should the order for all hands on deck be called. I myself took to going on two watches a night, a wearying hardship if undertaken for two full weeks, but it was nothing compared to the kind of vigilance that the captain subjected himself to. 

For the entire month of March the captain refrained from sleeping in his berth, preferring to rest fitfully in his chair or roam the deck as he observed the snowfall. Despite my repeated entreaties for his health, he refused a reprieve and remained on deck. It is a prudence I cannot blame him for, of course. A captain’s duty is to mind for the worst case and not the one he hopes for. Nevertheless I feared that my captain was reaching the end of his endurance.

One night after a less than rudimentary dinner, I stumbled on the captain asleep in the Great Cabin. It was clear that he had dropped off in the middle of consulting the charts, for he was slumped over an arm and was close to pushing a spyglass off the table. I prodded him awake, gently pulling him from the throes of slumber with my voice, and when he awoke I led him to his cabin. I really should have called his steward, but having passed through Jopson’s berth and hearing him snore the third act of Don Giovanni, I thought it best to leave him be.

Above us, the rain continued coming down in torrents, and I knew that the quicker I had the captain abed, the less likely he would protest and march back up on deck. I sat him on his berth and began with his cravat. The captain stared at me blearily as I went about the business of stripping him from his uniform. Now, I am almost thirty in age, but I still felt my face grow hot at being examined so closely. Half awake though the captain was, the intensity of his observation was in full force, and at his slurred words I fumbled with his buttons.

“‘m I dreaming?”

I laughed and said otherwise. 

“Feel as if I’ve dreamed this before. You in my cabin.”

The captain closed his eyes and started leaning backwards.Thinking that he might injure himself on the bulkhead, I pulled him towards me and secured my arms around his shoulders. He sighed and nosed at my stomach.

The captain, if you recall, had been gravely ill in ‘41. He spent nearly a month in his cabin being tended to by doctors, along with his steward and the occasional officer who was too worried for his own good. In my time at his bedside the captain was always asleep, but perhaps in my concentration I had failed to notice him stir to consciousness for a while.

Perhaps that was what he was remembering, and at my reminding him, he hummed and buried deep into the wool of my jacket, like Lottie on a particularly cold day. I found the image so amusing that I had an inkling to pet him, fleeting my fingers through the short hairs at his nape. It had gone silver over the course of the months, and though I missed how it glowed in the lamplight, it looked ethereal under the moon. 

His sigh against my jacket spurred by ministrations, and very soon I myself began to feel the trappings of sleep. Likely it was due to my own exhaustion, but at that moment it felt as if the captain and I were not in his cabin, nor on the ship, but in some place separate from time, where we were free to rest and match the pace of our breathing.

“I shall miss it, your looking out for me,” he said. I trailed my hand up and down his hair, feeling the sharp ends on the pads of my fingers.

“I shan’t be parted from you until the very gangway is mounted in Woolwich, sir. You have five months to be rid of me.”

At this, the captain’s shoulders stiffened. “Do I?” He pulled away slightly. “That is a cruel thing for you to say, James, knowing you’re to leave me soon.”

“Sir?”

“Captain Ross disclosed to me that your Charlewood has been given leave to be paid off early in Brazil. I assume you will be going together, though why you neglected to mention any of it to me, I know not.”

“Captain…”

“You’ve given it a great deal of thought, I suppose,” he said with a pained grimace. “Sir John wouldn’t allow anyone below a captain attach to his banner, and it would be wise for you to improve your prospects before continuing your suit.”

“What?”

“So I do understand if you’re raring for your next assignment, but you still ought to have told me. I had assumed that our… our friendship deserved a little forewarning—” 

“Sir—” 

“And I would’ve agreed, James. I wouldn’t put you in harness, I’m not that kind of man—”

“Francis!” 

He blinked, his large, tired eyes wide in surprise.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Instead of an explanation, the captain only smiled, defeated, and my heart quickened in alarm. 

“It’s all right, James. You needn’t spare me.”

I could not conceive what awful ploy had occurred for several fallacies to have taken root in the captain’s mind, but I knew immediately that it must not be left unfettered. I told him in no uncertain terms that I would not be joining Teddy in India, that I intended to finish the expedition, and that, however bafflingly he had come to his conclusion, I had no desire to marry Eleanor Franklin.

“But... you danced with her at the gala,” he recalled, his furrowed brow making an appearance. “You were determined to dance with her, you even left—”

Catching himself, the captain looked away. I wanted to meet his eye, but seeing as my arms remained around his shoulders, the angle abused my neck. I began to withdraw, and his hand rose to capture my retreating sleeve. 

A memory came to me then—his queer reaction as I left to fulfill a promised dance to Ms. Franklin. The captain had seemed puzzled when I mentioned her name, distant, and then he had drawn away and turned his attention to the sea. 

“And that upset you, my dancing with Eleanor?”

The captain winced and folded in on himself. He resembled a child being made to admit a wrong, waiting for the strike that surely followed. My heart ached for him but I had to find out. “Why?”

“James,” he said with great effort, “must I say it?” His gaze slid up to mine, as fragile as a wounded bird. “Don’t you know?”

Strange to have thought it at such a life-altering moment, but I had a fanciful notion then, Will. I considered actually sending this letter to you. I have written many through the years, but for one reason or another they have not all reached your doorstep. This letter will likely meet the same fate, but on the impossible chance that it makes its way from the Indian Ocean to your study, I figured you might lay to rest a simple question. It has long haunted me, especially before I sleep as I stare at the ceiling of my bunk and contrive meaning in every gesture. 

Do tell me, brother: with Elizabeth, how did you know that she loved you back? 

I wonder if it involved your leading her to her room, where she hurled an assortment of accusations at you while you tried to get a word in. I wonder if you fell to your knees and took their trembling hands, apologising for absurd things you did not do while confessing that you were devoted to them entirely, that your sole wish was to stay by their side as long as they would have you. I wonder if he blushed furiously at his error, the rosy tinge spreading from his cheeks down to the depths of his collar, until his shame blossomed into hope.

I do not remember who kissed first. It seemed not to matter, not when this lengthy and complicated dance between us finally drew to a close. A sigh escaped both of us as our lips met, twin exhales of relief, like the long breath released at the first sight of home. 

I had dreamt of this moment countless times, became adept at the many ways I could put my lips on the captain of my imaginings, but even my fantasies fell short of the real thing.

His kisses rendered me dizzy, unmoored, and I feared I would topple at any second. His knees made to accommodate me as I swayed forward, pressing on my sides that I might move closer. He relinquished my hands, which made me whine, only for him to grab my lapels and pull me closer still. My hands wound around his waist and gripped at the corded muscle of his back.

“Am I dreaming?” the captain whispered to the space between us. His warm breath alone was a kiss entire.

I cupped his jaw and traced a thumb along his gasping mouth. “No. No, darling, this is real.” 

I moved to partake of him again, when a resolute wailing wafted from the room beyond.

I knew it was Annie simply by the length and volume of the wails. Dear Annie, sweet Annie has grown from the small, fragile kitten that she was to the terror of the local colony—and foolish is the man who ignores her grievances for she simply does not care to stop.

I let out an oath and untangled myself from the captain’s legs. His chuckle rang in my ears as I stomped gracelessly into the Great Cabin, where I found the offender meowing in front of her water bowl. It had been pushed by half a yard from its usual position.

“You ingrate,” I hissed as I returned the bowl to its proper corner. “Oh, you heartless ingrate! Don’t you remember what I’ve done for you? What _he’s_ done?”

Annie showed her gratitude by ignoring the bowl and lounging in front of the brazier instead. I straightened and practically rushed to the captain’s berth, where the captain was yawning onto the back of his hand. I leaned on his writing desk, disappointed. 

“I suppose you’ll go to bed now.”

“Oh?”

I pointed out that the captain had barely slept in the past few weeks, and that if he was to expend his energy on activities beneficial to us then I would gladly not impose on his rest at present.

This seemed to me a sound argument, but the captain frowned and shook his head. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” 

He raised his hand in invitation, and I suppose it was a sign of how raked fore and aft I was that I came to him without question. He drew me into his arms and locked me in place with his ankles, pressing his face to my stomach. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this for years,” he said. His voice came out stifled against my uniform. “I’d be mad to release you now. You’re staying right here for the three hours I’ll allow myself to sleep.”

“Really, sir,” I said, cuttingly, as if scolding a schoolboy. “As your second I have duties to attend to, and I would be grateful if—wait... years?”

Instead of answering, the captain whined and pulled me into the bed with him. We scrambled to rid ourselves of our boots at least, and somehow managed to fit our odds and ends in his bed. I lay on my side and bent an arm under my head. The captain settled the blanket over us and reached for my free hand, pressing it firmly to his chest.

“James?”

“Hmm?”

He opened his eyes by a margin, the blues rendered black. “Do you mind calling me that again?” 

“What? Darling?”

He shook his head languidly, and I struggled to recall what other endearment I had called him. I would not be surprised if, in my passions, I had pronounced something that would cause me deep embarrassment later. 

Only when I did remember, my heart swelled. I repeated the word in my mind, relishing the softness of its consonants.

“ _Francis_.”

My Francis coloured into a bright pink and grinned. It transformed his entire face, like a spot of sun after a cloudy day, and I gave in to the desire to capture it in my lips.

“Francis.”

He kissed me in turn, tasting the syllables as I spoke them.

“Francis.”

Again.

“Francis.”

And so on and so on, until together we fell into the bosom of sweet dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: do you like me  
> you: no  
> me: *slides chapter 15 across the table*  
> me: what about now


	16. 1843 june, rio de janeiro

Dearest,

I have a feeling that you must have elaborate fancies of my sneaking off in the middle of the day to place this in your cabin, but forgive an old man for being a curmudgeon. It will be Jopson who will leave this on your writing desk while you are out. I wanted to join you but I felt it best to give you and Charlewood some time alone. You will be insufferable enough once he departs and this is the least I can do to delay it somewhat.

I have little to say and our many duties keep me in anything but a fit mood for letter writing, but since you insisted I shall endevour to play the part. Beg pardon if it does not live up to your expectations. This is my first love letter, you see—I have not had much practice.

You asked me last night when it began for me. In truth I do not quite recall but it must have been very early. Do you know that you were meant to berth in the Erebus? James and I had drawn up the list and were ready to send it to the Admiralty. I remember clearly the day. We were on our way to the south wing of Somerset House when we chanced on you and Charlewood at the stairs. I thought I was being discreat, but James noticed my eyes linger on the curve of your shoulders, and before I knew it he had scratched out your name from his muster and put it in mine. 

You really need not resent him for being the first ‘James’ in my life. He nearly laughed his head off as I complained to him of your recklessness early in our voyage. I told him that I had no need for an officer who risked his safety so easily as you did, and in turn he suggested, with no hint of amusement, that I examine why I felt so strongly for a man whose notations for ocean depths I bemoaned of so loudly.

Did you not notice his sending you to all sorts of places? To that theatre in Hobart, so you could be out of uniform for once; to the privacy of the stern during the gala; and most recently, to assist me in the observatory here in Rio.

Had I known that magnetic observations could be as riveting as that night’s, I would never have delegated it to the mates. You were lovely, James. I had expected the evening to go pleasantly, but when you pulled out the dress from your pack, my heart nearly stopped. No song is as sweet as the sounds that you made then. To this day I feel an ache in my jaw, and when I swallow there is a very pleasant sore.

Ah, do forgive me for that blot. I am faint in the head now. You are only an afternoon gone but how I do miss you. In truth, I am despondent tonight, and if I look back to the emptiness of my cabin I can see the cause and therefore no prospect of having a more joyous feeling until you are returned to me. Forgive this melodrama, but you must understand that for the longest time I had contented myself with living the rest of my chair days alone, knowing well it could not be otherwise. 

That is the crux of it you see: I had been content. Now I live with a near insatiable apetite, the curbing of which is only made possible by the weight of your cheek on my chest. 

This morning, the sight of your hair splayed all over my pillow gave me a sudden desire to devour you whole. I took your silent hitches of breath as a challenge, and in a fit of wickedness, ventured lower and made you cry out like a roundshot. 

How you have remade me, James mine. I no longer recognise the person who stares back at me in the looking glass. He has my hair, and the craggy divots in my face, but there is a hunger in his gaze that I fear, and a softness that terrifies me just as much. 

You are young yet, and so, still well equipped to handle these excesses of feeling, whereas I scarcely know what to do with myself. There are times, like stumbling on you half dressed in the Great Cabin, when the basest of yearnings threaten to undo me, and then there are times when I would want nothing more than to walk with you arm-in-arm as we strolled through the galleries in an exhibition.

And here is where I should get to the heart of the matter, for some of my close friends have extended an invitation to their rooms in Florence. It will be a tour across Europe, but likely they will wish me to spend most of the months with their company in Oltrarno. 

James mine, will it be too much of an imposition if you joined me?

This is cruel of me to ask, especially of a lieutenant looking to earn his place in the world. Had I been entreated at 30 to forstall my career for a holiday I would have balked. But I will ask anyway, because if there is anything I have learned from you, dearest, it is to jump in with both feet before thinking. We will live on modest means with 14 shillings and four years of double pay. The rest I have not figured out, but I have come to realise that I care not a whit so long as they are spent in your company. I feel like a lecher spiriting a maiden into a life of debauchery, but had I no inkling that you would thrill at the prospect I would not have offered.

I think I will put this on your desk myself after all. You need not answer soon and I will not ask again, but pray do not let me wait too long. Be assured that your response will in no way change the depth of my affections for you. In fact should I end up alone in a hovel somewhere in Lisbon, I shall still look fondly at this time in my life of perfect happiness. 

I have laid out my cards now and will leave you to decide. Good evening, James mine, and let me assure you again that however you answer, one thing shall remain:

How I do love you,

FRM Crozier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they lived happily ever after
> 
> a big, big thanks to each and every one of you who's read, commented, or given kudos to this fic. there is no way i could have completed a 16-week project like this one without the validation that you gave me. 
> 
> i'm extremely proud of this fic. in many ways, this is the reason that i started writing again. there was a very long dry spell from 2014 to 2018 where i was drifting along fandoms. and then i watched the terror, and then i read fic, and then i discovered that james fitzjames was denied the antarctic expedition. 
> 
> from then on, it was a worm in my ear that wouldn't leave. i started writing terror fics knowing that it was all in preparation for "at furthest south". and here it is, 16 weeks later, posted on the eve of my 30th birthday. 
> 
> i feel like i've grown during the span of this project. and i want to thank you guys again for being unintentional witnesses to this journey. 😁 i don't know if i'm ever gonna pull off anything of this scale again, but even if i never do, i'm good, i'm content. 
> 
> finally, there's art of this now! head back to [chapter six](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24806023/chapters/61416991).


End file.
